


Chills and Thrills

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan AU - Freeform, F/M, Ghost hunting shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: Emma Swan has built her entire career on her reputation as a serious force in the ghost hunting world. When the network executives backing her paranormal investigation show decide that a co-episode with another team is needed to boost ratings, can she swallow her pride and learn to work with the group that makes a mockery of her profession? And what will this partnership mean when the other team's frontman, Killian Jones, isn’t the person he seems to be on television?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 62
Kudos: 136
Collections: CS January Joy, CaptainSwan Supernatural Summer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of CS January Joy 2020 <3

With a current population of less than 500 people, ‘Storybrooke’ is actually quite a fitting name for the picturesque little town on the coast of Maine where their latest haunt resides. Once dubbed ‘The Sorcerer’s Mansion,’ the 17,000 square-foot property is perched high atop a hill and overlooks the main part of town. It’s surrounded by lush gardens and offers some of the most spectacular views of the neighboring mountains and harbor. 

Those are hardly the only interesting facts about it, though. In truth, it’s been one of the most intriguing communities to research, but probably also one of the most nonsensical, being heavily rich in legends and tales of magic, both dark and light. In the past week alone, Emma Swan has read a plethora of stories about monsters and fantastical creatures that supposedly once plagued the area, lores of curses and clashes of power, and anecdotes of moonlit rituals and enchanted objects. All of which, she’s come to find, straddle the line between myth and reality. 

Myths are not her speciality, however, and magic not her true area of interest, but _proving_ the impossible possible? That’s much more her wheelhouse. As the lead investigator of Lost Souls Paranormal, Emma’s sole and primary focus isn’t unicorns or spellbooks, but _ghosts_ and all of their variants -- full-bodied apparitions, intelligent spirits, residual energy, poltergeist activity, shadow people, and demonic hauntings. Each episode of her show, _Ghastly_ , catalogues her dabblings in the paranormal and challenges even the most skeptic of viewers to _believe_ ; believe in something beyond life, and beyond death itself.

Though it’s her main job now, it wasn’t for a very long time. She’d had to double up on shifts before, working as a bail bondsperson during the day to make ends meet, while hunting in every spare moment she could find with her team. It was a tough balancing act, but one she loved, and for a time that was enough. 

Their persistence and hard work eventually paid off, and with just a bit of luck, they were given the opportunity to host a show on a new travel network. She was twenty-five at the start and promptly launched into the spotlight when the show amassed a hefty following in just under two seasons. Now, a year later, with Season 3 freshly premiered and scheduled to run weekly on tv through the Fall season, dozens of cases and mounds of evidence to their name, they are well into the filming of their fourth season of ghost hunting. She’s living The Dream, as most teams in their field would sigh wistfully about, except now, the very network that took a chance on them and changed their lives, the network that she is _so_ _beyond grateful_ to, is also the same network that she wants to strangle.

“You’re frowning _again_ ,” Mary Margaret murmurs, singing the last word in her _annoyingly_ sweet preschool teacher’s tone, while she puts batteries into their EMF detectors. 

Emma picks one up, checking Mary Margaret’s work more out of habit than anything else. The detectors are devices that can pick up on electromagnetic fields that are emitted by charged moving objects, or specifically in their line of work -- it can pick up on the possible presence of ghosts. Emma adjusts some of the settings, making a mental note to remind the audience about that at some point during their investigation.

When she puts the gadget back on the table, she rolls her eyes at their Equipment Tech. There are several retorts she has in mind for that ‘frowning’ sentiment, all of them impolite, but before she can comment, Mary Margaret’s husband and fellow investigator on their team, chimes in from her left. 

“I don’t know, I’d say it’s more of a scowl.”

Emma shoots David a glare, eyes narrowing sharply against her mounting irritation.

“Oh, same thing,” his wife replies, shrugging and moving on to examine more of the equipment they’ll be using on the lockdown later that night. 

David makes a noise of disagreement, fiddling with several of the walkie talkies and earning a slap to the hand for his curious fingers. Mary Margaret snatches the gadgets away, putting them out of reach and back into their neat little rows. He smiles sheepishly at the look on her face and the warning finger she points at him. 

“All I’m saying is that not all frowns are created equal, Mary Margaret, and Emma’s-”

“Is grumpy about the network insisting on a joint segment with the Boo Brothers & Co. for the Halloween special they pitched?” Granny, their resident medium, wonders as she steps into the large tent they’ve set up a temporary homebase in. 

Once the lockdown starts, they’ll move everything into the mansion, but while they film several establishing shots in the central part of the town and conduct interviews with some of the townsfolk to build history, their current setup in an alley on Main Street will have to do.

“Handsome men, aren’t they?” Granny continues, plopping down into a nearby chair. Mary Margaret moves seamlessly, immediately getting to work on fitting her with her mic. 

“The dreamiest,” David mock-sighs, sending Emma a wink at her blatantly offended expression.

“ _Granny_ ,” Mary Margaret chides.

“What? I may be old but I still have eyes, and just because you’re married now doesn’t mean you don’t have them either-”

“ _Granny!_ ” This time David is the one insulted, but the elderly woman simply waves him off dismissively. 

“Besides, I think those men are just what we need to spice things up around here-”

“Not _helping_ ,” Mary Margaret singsongs again, nodding her head at Emma and doing a poor job of hiding the way she mouths ‘grumpy’ at Granny. 

“I am not grumpy,” Emma argues, and she hopes her voice doesn’t sound as defensive as she feels.

“Maybe a _little_ grumpy,” Elsa, their Audio/Visual Specialist, speaks up, peeking her head out from beneath the table where she’d been busy plugging in their monitors. 

“I’m not _grumpy_!” Emma exclaims, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I just don’t understand why they wanted to do it. Our shows, methods, and audiences are so _completely_ different-” 

“That might be the point,” Elsa shrugs, delicate hands resting on her hips. The way she angles her head at Emma gives her a strangely regal appearance. “Look, despite your differences, you and Killian are the lead investigators on two of their most popular shows. Now, if I was the network, and I wanted to boost ratings and viewership just in time for Halloween, what would be the most obvious thing I’d do?”

Emma rolls her eyes again. “Yeah, but I still don’t have to like it.”

“No,” Mary Margaret agrees, walking over and stepping behind her to clip the battery pack of her body microphone onto her jeans. “But you _do_ have to play nice.”

And maybe that was the issue. She didn’t _want_ to play nice. Killian Jones wasn’t just good-looking, he was beyond charismatic, and the biggest problem was that he _knew_ it. In fact, they all did. They were all the same cookie-cutter big personalities that were incredibly easy on the eyes, and they capitalized on it. It was a huge part of the recipe that made them and their show an instant success, while the rest of them, mere mortals by comparison, had been forced to work their way up from the bottom. They visited sites and used equipment on their own dime, year after year, filming hours upon hours of footage, and sometimes, coming up with only one or two solid pieces of evidence. Sometimes, coming up with nothing. 

But then the Englishman waltzes onto the scene -- obnoxious, boisterous, an irritating flair for the dramatic. Add in the smolder, the dimples, the over expressive eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own, and it was a lethally winning combo. His rise to ghost hunting fame took all of six months once the network began their show, while it took Lost Souls Paranormal _years_ of busting their asses and working alongside the most renowned professionals in the field before they could even build up enough credibility to be taken seriously. 

She wouldn’t call herself resentful pre se, but it’s a near thing. 

“Killian Jones is nothing but a bit of eye candy with a frat boy complex and an ego to match. Let’s not pretend like the only reason they got popular wasn’t just because they were pretty. He’s a complete joke and so is his show-”

“You forgot to mention the accent, love.”

Emma whirls around at the familiar, gruff voice and finds its owner standing beneath the open flap of their tent. The only reason she isn’t horrified with embarrassment is because of how unfazed Killian appears by her less than pleasant assessment of him. The smirk on his face and the amused lift of his brow effortlessly raise her hackles, and something tells her that’s entirely his point.

“The network _loves_ it,” he grins, dimples deepening in his cheeks.

“They certainly love to exploit it.” A man emerges from behind Killian, taller, broader-shouldered, but eyes the same fierce blue and Emma recognizes him immediately as Liam, the elder Jones. Older and _protective_ , if the look on his face is anything to go by.

Liam takes a wide stance and folds his arms across his chest. He appears about as excited as Emma is over this whole team-up between their two shows, and she probably would have taken some comfort in that if he didn’t look to be sizing her up. The rest of their crew filter into the tent, three more men, all of them attractive, all of them magnetic. Men she recognizes by face and name only because she’s made it a point to do her research, _not_ because she hate-watched their show. 

There’s Robin, with his kind face and warm disposition, then Merlin, who somehow carries the weight of the world in his eyes but manages to retain a sweet boyishness about him, and lastly, there’s Arthur, who, if his dark hair and light eyes weren’t an indication, was related to the Jones men. A cousin of theirs and every bit as arrogant. She wonders if it’s merely a coincidence that they happened to all have names of prominent characters in lore too. 

It starts to feel too cramped in the tent for her liking, particularly with the tension continuing to mount as they all stare at each other in awkward silence. Mary Margaret is, of course, the first to break the ice and issue a warm welcome to the others. She’s always been good at defusing situations and Emma always swears she was some kind of diplomat in another life, a princess most likely, maybe even a queen.

Handshakes are exchanged amongst all, save for Liam, who merely nods at her when Emma extends her hand out. She’ll never admit embarrassment, but the heat that burns in her cheeks as her hand falls back to her side tells a different story. Killian continues to prove to be the much warmer of the two, lingering over their introduction with eyes full of mirth and the corners of his lips tugged up. He holds onto her hand for longer than is comfortable and for a brief moment Emma thinks he’s going to do something typically like him, like...bend over and _kiss_ _it_. 

“The feeling might not be mutual, but I very much look forward to working with you,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. 

_That_ surprises her, not so much the words themselves but the sincerity in his voice, his eyes, and then, just as she suspected he might, there it is: the press of his lips to the tops of her knuckles. His gaze never wavers from hers and she watches him, unblinking, as the breath she’d been meaning to exhale rushes back into her lungs, straining to fill every available space, pushing into hollows and caverns and refusing to budge. 

She’d been expecting it and yet, somehow the gesture still catches her off guard, promptly tilting her world off of its axis. Not drastically, just enough that Emma’s slightly concerned she’ll do something atypical of herself, like... _swoon_.

But then he’s straightening, backing away with that smirk that launched a million fan pages playing at his mouth, and the moment shatters, leaving her with just the barest jolt of something that could be considered whiplash. He calls for his team to set up so they can begin filming, hands clapping together with the compelling tone of a ship’s captain commanding his crew to arms. She doesn’t miss Liam’s icy glare when he steps out of the tent, and she also doesn’t miss the way Killian looks back at her before he exits after his brother. This time, though, the heat warming her face feels like it’s for an entirely different reason. 

“Mmm,” Granny hums her approval. “My kind of eye candy.”

Emma turns towards Granny but promptly catches sight of David, camera nestled against his shoulder and trained directly at her.

“Is that- is that thing _on_?” she snaps.

“Yeah?” he answers, voice and expression the very definition of innocence. 

“Well, what are you doing? Turn it off-”

“It’s for the segment-”

“We haven’t even started yet-”

“Says who?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake will you just-” She reaches over, covering the lens with her hand and pushing the camera down so it tips from his shoulder. “ _God!_ ”

“Emma, dear,” Granny says, drawing her attention again. “Lighten up a little, go with the flow, and for the love of god, quit frowning. You’ll end up with wrinkles.”

“That explains so much,” David grins at Granny, his eyes making a show of sweeping across her face.

“You know, a little bit of eye candy never hurt anybody,” Granny chuckles, reaching over to pat David’s cheek patronizingly. “We didn’t take this one on cuz he was good at holding a camera, after all.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, sweetheart,” Mary Margaret laughs.

“At least David’s charming,” Emma mutters. 

“Thank you, Emma-”

“Yeah, charming as a rock,” Mary Margaret snorts. 

“ _Hey!_ ”

“Come, my Prince,” she giggles, standing up on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “Let’s go outside, we need to check the lighting and do a final equipment check before we start.”

Granny follows the happy couple out and Elsa gives Emma an encouraging smile before she settles down in front of the monitors. Emma sighs, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath before she joins the rest of the teams. It’s going to be a long day and an even longer night.

* * *

So she wasn’t entirely correct with her assessment of Killian Jones. Yes, he was a fair bit of eye candy, and yes, he was rowdy, obnoxious and a tad bit conceited, but what she failed to mention and never gave him credit for, was that he was a hell of a storyteller. Watching him tape his part of the opening sequence, casually walking down Main Street and introducing Storybrooke, Maine to the world, all while weaving a captivating preface full of folklore and magic, only reiterates the inherent charisma he’d been blessed with. 

They make eye contact once, when he recounts a story about a malevolent, vicious black swan that had supposedly terrorized the town for decades, plucking out the eyes of anyone who dared gaze upon her. He says, ‘it’s not your average _Swan Princess_ tale,’ and the amused tilt to his lips is most certainly for her.

He shifts the topic from monsters to demons and fairies to ghosts with a distinct ease, never flubbing a line, never even forgetting one for that matter, and the fact that he had obviously done his research and come so prepared almost impresses her.

Almost. 

When it’s her turn, she feels a trickle of anxiety work its way down her spine while Mary Margaret tests her mic one more time and David adjusts the settings on the camera to compensate for the slight change in daylight. She runs through her lines in her head and has a final calming breath as she takes her mark.

“Do try to be pleasant, darling, hmm?” Liam tells her, hefting his camera onto his shoulder with a smile that’s all snobbish and lacking any warmth.

She hears Killian’s quiet but firm and warning, “ _Liam_ ,” and shakes her head at David when he looks like he could deck somebody. Mary Margaret’s eyes are wide with disbelief and Emma can tell she’s biting down very hard on her tongue.

Emma bounces on her toes and shakes out her hands, attempting to release the tension from her body. Damned if she was going to let one Jones boy rile her up, let alone two.

“Ready?” David asks.

“Ready,” she confirms and plasters on her best smile.

She doesn’t miss a beat, nails every sentence, and hits every emotional tone she wanted to. What she lacks in natural charisma she compensates for with sincerity and honesty. Her viewers have come to trust her to tell the truth and never lead them astray, so she keeps that in the forefront of her mind while she delivers her lines. Experience and instinct have her piggybacking off of Killian’s stories as she changes parts of the script at the last minute, ad libbing anecdotes she remembers from her own research, and in the end, she completes what will become their opening sequence with a tilt of her head, an invitation for the audience to join her on this latest adventure, and a beguiling smile into the camera that earns her a low, appreciative whistle from David when she’s finished. 

Killian’s smile is beaming, his applause both enthusiastic and genuine in a way that catches her off guard. “You are bloody brilliant,” he chuckles, brows waggling as he nudges her shoulder with his on his way up the street to take his mark for the next scene. “Amazing.”

The compliment doesn’t make her shy so much as self-conscious, but regardless, she smiles to herself as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Mary Margaret high-fives her when she passes and calls for the teams to set up for the subsequent sequence of shots that will feature Emma and Killian together. Robin reminds everyone that they still have two interviews to conduct in town before heading to the mansion, the mansion tour itself, and a dinner break to get to in the next four hours before lockdown. 

“Great job out there,” Robin tells her, touching her arm lightly as he does so, and he’s so earnest in the way that he says it, she gives him a genuine smile in return.

“Thanks.”

Liam rolls his eyes when she passes, and she just barely restrains herself from turning around and flipping him off.

* * *

Now called the Lakeside Manor, the three-story structure sits isolated deep within the thick New England forest, about ten miles from the rest of the town. The first time she lays eyes on it, stepping out of the van that shuttled them over from Main Street, it staggers her. Not just because of its size or beauty, but because she has the strangest sense of familiarity. Her eyes narrow in contemplation as she stares up at the estate.

“Emma? Dear?” Granny says from behind her, almost impatient.

“Hmm?” she replies absentmindedly, lost to her thoughts.

“Uhh...do you mind?” 

“What’s that?” she says, shaking her head and effectively snapping out of her trance. She glances back and jolts out of the way when she realizes that she’s been blocking Granny’s exit from the van. “Oh, sorry!” 

Granny doesn’t move, though, just stares at her with that narrow-eyed look that’s always unnerved Emma. The one that means that she’s _seen_ something -- with her third eye or her sixth sense or whatever -- and usually too much for Emma’s liking. 

“Hmm,” she hums.

Emma blinks at her, sigh already exasperated. “What now?”

But she gets no answer to the question she poses, Granny too distracted by Killian when he comes around from the other side of the vehicle to offer her his hand. “I’m not that old and you’re not that chivalrous,” she tells him, waving off his help.

“That’s offensive, I’m _always_ a gentleman,” Killian replies, continuing to hold his hand out. 

He looks at Emma when he says it, winking when their gazes meet for a brief moment. The smirk that curls his lips and the mischievous expression on his face makes Granny snort, but she takes his hand and reluctantly allows him to assist her out of the van. When she’s steady on her feet, she pats his cheek in thanks, like a grandmother might to her favorite grandchild. It’s sweet, even if Emma can’t help but feel betrayed by the affectionate gesture. 

Killian watches Granny shuffle away, and then that piercing gaze finds her again, as it always seems to do. He considers her, eyes searching her face, and she wonders how it is that she’s managed to get not one, but two people in her life that have this ability to see more than they should.

“You alright there, Swan?”

“Yeah, just having some déjà vu,” she shrugs, hand reaching up to toy with the charm on the end of her necklace. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“You have,” Granny pipes up before Killian can reply.

Emma turns sharply towards her. 

“Not in this life, though,” Granny continues, and with that she wanders off towards the tent to settle in since she won’t be needed for awhile yet.

“Huh,” Killian murmurs. “Interesting.”

“Hardly,” Emma tells him, attempting to brush off Granny’s casual comment and Killian’s inquisitive stare. “Now come on, let’s go.”

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious about that?”

“About what she said? No. Granny always says that kind of stuff. She’s convinced we’ve all been reincarnated hundreds of times.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“Do you?” she challenges.

Killian shrugs. “Life is cyclical. All living things are born and then they die. Who’s to say it doesn’t happen with the soul?”

“Fascinating stuff,” Liam deadpans, coming around the van and lifting his camera onto his shoulder. “Now if you two are done mucking about, there’s a very anxious nun waiting for us.”

Emma follows Liam’s gaze and casts one final glance at Killian before setting off towards the mansion. Behind her, she can hear the elder Jones teasing the younger, asking if he’s been watching _The Lion King_ again. Killian’s grumble is unintelligible but his irritated tone comes across loud and clear, and Emma finds herself fighting back a smile as she saunters up the path to meet their next guest.

The manor looms over them, and she is once again struck by its grandeur, by the underlying sense that she somehow _knows_ this place. It’s a feeling that creeps along her skin and makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. While the rest of the teams settle in and introductions are made with Sister Gorham, a local nun and the caretaker of the property for the last decade, Emma can’t seem to pull her eyes away from the mansion for longer than a few minutes, even when they begin filming.

It’s an old house, built of stone and dark wood with many square windows. There’s very little about the history of it, in fact, Emma wasn’t able to find anything even mentioning the mansion’s early beginnings in all of her research. Interviewing Sister Gorham, she understands why. 

“So...what you’re saying is that this isn’t even a matter of some lost or buried records. No one has any clue where this building came from?”

Sister Gorham shakes her head, leaning up against the railing of the steps that lead up to the entrance. She’s a pretty woman, auburn hair clipped neatly away from her sullen face. She looks tense, though, fidgety hands on endless loop from wringing together, grasping at her arms, and reaching up to touch her hair. 

Almost as if she’s soothing herself.

“No, no record whatsoever.”

“No permit? No tax documents?” Killian asks.

“Nope. Nothing. There are people who have lived here in Storybrooke all their lives who have never seen it and don’t even recall hearing stories about the construction of it from their parents or their grandparents or their great-grandparents. It’s literally as if it just...appeared out of nowhere one day and that was that.”

Killian takes a moment to look pointedly at one of the cameras. 

“That’s so strange. Well, what about when it was first discovered?” Emma continues.

“Abandoned, not even a single squatter.”

“And when did the...incidents begin?” Killian wonders.

“Since its discovery in the early 1800s. The earliest documented recording was a letter found in the possessions of the town’s Mayor at the time, shortly after his passing.”

“What was the letter?”

“It actually didn’t say much, just the town realtor making small talk about how he’d spruced up a large, lakeside home and put it on the market, but couldn’t get any of the buyers to stick. They’d move in and then promptly move out anywhere between a few days to a month.”

“No one ever stayed longer than a month?” Killian shoots another glance at the camera, his eyebrows arching up into his hairline.

Sister Gorham shakes her head again. “It was incredibly unusual.”

“We like unusual,” David says, earning a tentative smile from the nun.

“Well, you’re certainly in the right place. There are a ton of stories like this, unexplainable incidents, things that don’t add up and make even less sense.”

“Even with the lack of history, I did find that there were still definitely a lot of interesting lores concerning this place,” Emma muses. 

Sister Gorham appears to be deep in thought, a far off look in her eyes as she fiddles with the cross around her neck. “Did you read the one about the young noblewoman and the stableboy who fell in love? Regina and Daniel. She was from a prominent family and her mother found out about her affair with Daniel from one of the maids. She didn’t approve. She wanted Regina to marry someone prestigious, preferably with a title to their name.”

Emma doesn’t recall, but Killian does.

“Yes, or at the very least, someone who was filthy rich. Her name was Cora, the mum, and rumor has it, she dabbled heavily in dark magic. Supposedly she locked her daughter away one evening and met the stableboy wearing her daughter’s face.” He looks at the camera again, inviting the audience into the tale. “Not literally, but magically. Enchanted to look like her.”

“What happened?” Emma asks, all of her attention focused on Killian. 

He fidgets under her gaze, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear and if Emma didn’t know any better, she might even call the gesture shy. “Well, if we’re to believe the tale, she spent the night torturing him and when she was finished, she’d pulled his heart from his chest, crushing it to ash. He was found dead in the morning.”

“And his lady love?” Liam asks, peeking out from behind his camera to look at his brother..

“Devastated. And rightfully so. The tale only grows more tragic from there. Regina began to dabble in her mother’s magic, her grief and anger festering while she learned the craft, biding her time.” 

“For revenge,” Emma concludes.

Killian nods at her. “She killed the maid who betrayed her then set her sights on her mother. Her mother was powerful, though, and it was no easy feat. But revenge has a power of its own, a will stronger than a mother’s misguided love.”

“She killed her,” Emma realizes. “She killed her mom.”

“Took Cora’s heart as Cora had taken Daniel’s. In the end, it’s said that Regina pulled her own heart from her chest as well. Hid it away so she’d never feel anything again. No pain, no loss, no guilt. The townsfolk say she walked around like an empty shell for months, then simply disappeared. No one knew what became of her.”

“She’s still here,” Sister Gorham interjects, glancing back at the mansion, and both the words and the action send a chill down Emma’s spine. “So is Cora. Supposedly.”

Killian smiles a soft little smile at that, something sad around the edges. “A restless daughter,” he sighs, focusing on Liam’s camera. “Heartsick. Searching for what was stolen from her, waiting to be reunited with her lost love.”

“A controlling mother with a dark secret,” Liam adds. “Betrayed. Murdered. Trapped by the consequences of her choices.”

Perhaps if she hadn’t been paying such close attention, she might have missed it. The slightly mocking tone in Liam’s voice, the attempt to stifle a snicker, the twitch of Killian’s lips in response to his brother’s poor efforts at covering up his antics. And just like that, whatever magic they’d been trying to weave with their story is abruptly shattered for her. She wonders if either of the Jones men have even one serious bone in their bodies. 

“Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I’m ready to go inside.” Emma glances at Mary Margaret and her camera, and expertly turns the attention away from Killian and Liam’s subtle dramatics.

Sister Gorham is the first to move, leading the way up the few steps and heading for the main doors. 

“I had no idea you had such a soft side,” she mutters at Killian when he falls into step beside her, and the comment is both biting and sarcastic. 

He is unfazed though, leaning into her space as they make their way up the stairs. The movement is natural and easy, as if they were more than just acquaintances, and she finds it as unnerving as the mansion itself. His breath is warm against her skin, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he speaks to her. “I may be a scoundrel, but I bristle at the thought of a woman losing her heart.”

She angles her head to look at him and discovers that his smirk is back full force, deepening the dimples in his cheeks. 

“Unless it’s over me,” he winks, quickening his pace so he can hold the door open for Sister Gorham.

She doesn’t care if the cameras are on or if they catch her doing it, but she rolls her eyes as she shoves past him and into the mansion.

* * *

Every place they visit is unique, that was one of the first things Emma learned being out in the field. Some places almost instantly set her on edge, the whole cliche of goosebumps and shivers down the spine, hairs standing on end, chest constricting with anxiety and all. Other places were the complete opposite, devoid of that negative energy that tended to signify a haunting. The Lakeside Manor? It’s definitely the former. The first step across the threshold sends an icy chill through her whole body which immediately goes into flight mode. She has to brace, planting her feet to physically keep herself in place rather than scuttling back outside like she so badly wants to.

“You felt it too,” Sister Gorham says quietly, warm brown eyes trained on her face. 

It’s not a question, but Emma nods nonetheless, and while she doesn’t rub at the goosebumps on her skin, she certainly wants to. She takes a look around the foyer where they’ve all gathered, has the fleeting thought that it’s surprisingly well-kept despite being abandoned and unlived in, and wonders what Granny might have to say about the whole thing when they bring her in later for a separate walk-through.

That particular thing with Granny is customary before every lockdown, as it lends credibility to her abilities as a medium. The initial investigation with the caretakers allows them to get a feel for the site as well as make note of any hot spots they’ll want to explore further later on, while also laying down “x’s” with black tape for where their stationary cameras will go. When Granny does her own inspection, she usually describes any feelings she might be getting as they work from room to room, while also communicating flashes of stories, messages from the other side, impressions, and the like. Granny’s track record is impeccable; she has yet to fail to pick up on something or describe things that relate to the earlier walk-through, and Emma imagines she won’t disappoint today.

Killian continues to lead the investigation, asking all the standard questions and having the Sister elaborate on certain things when needed. He expertly fashions his queries to elicit optimal responses, not “manipulating” per se, but inducing answers to play up the haunt in a way she knows the producers and network will like. 

He’s clever, and that might impresses her if he didn’t irritate her so much.

Sister Gorham tells them more about what little history there is of the mansion, taking them to the hotspots where activity throughout the years has been previously noted. Over the last two centuries, while the mansion could never be sold as a home, they discover that because of its size, it had been used twice during two different wars as a makeshift hospital and once as a mental institution. 

“So on top of having eerie beginnings, everything about what we _do_ know of its history is spooky as well,” Liam says, turning the camera on himself to make a pointed face. 

“Uninhabitable for reasons unknown, death, blood, abuse...these grounds are the perfect place for a doorway into the paranormal,” Mary Margaret adds. 

“Or to Hell,” Liam muses, eyebrows wiggling at the camera before he sets it back in place atop his shoulder.

Sister Gorham gives them a small smile then opens her mouth to say something when they all start at the sudden noise that echoes from upstairs -- the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut. They freeze, eyes flicking back and forth between each other. It couldn’t be more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

Emma is the first to move, even before Killian, but not by much and the way they take off for the stairs sets off a domino effect as the rest of the team chases after them. She clears the landing on the second floor and moves quickly down the hallway to allow the others space to join her.

“Is somebody up here?” she asks, voice firm and loud.

“There’s a little red light right here on this device,” Killian adds, and when Emma turns to look at him, he’s already got his voice recorder in hand. “Come speak into it, mate. Can you do that?”

They all hold their breaths, waiting for that whisper of... _something_ , some response to prove that they are in fact not alone, but the mansion is strangely still once more. 

“Did you want us to come upstairs?” Emma wonders. “Are you leading us somewhere?”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks after a beat, allowing enough time for a response if there is one. He looks into one of the cameras, holding the device up to show them. “We’re doing a live EVP session right now.” He presses one of the buttons. “I’m going to rewind this and see if we’ve managed to pick up any kind of intelligent responses to the questions that we’ve asked.” 

He pushes down on another button, holding to turn the volume up, then puts the recorder between he and Emma so that she can also hear. If they do pick anything up, they’ll enhance the audio later for the show’s playback. 

She keeps her eyes trained on the recorder, but she can feel Killian’s own eyes on her while they listen. Her brow furrows as she strains to pick up anything between the questions and the white noise, but she hears nothing. One look at Killian confirms that he didn’t hear anything either.

“Well,” he smiles, shutting off his recorder. “That was exciting.” The dry comment earns a few chuckles among the group and then he looks at Sister Gorham again. “Does that happen often in here? Doors slamming?”

She nods her head. “Yes. Things being thrown, apparition sightings.”

“What kind of apparitions?” Liam wonders.

The nun shrugs. “Shadows, outlines of figures, dark mists. You name it, someone’s probably seen it at one point or another-”

Sister Gorham is interrupted again by the sound of a door squeaking on its hinges. It sounds closeby, and this time, Killian is the first to move. Emma can tell by the sureness of his steps that he’s following his gut and going where he thinks the noise came from. They repeat the process with the recorder, taking turns asking questions and waiting a few beats for possible replies.

Their device delivers. They capture two EVPs, the first is the indisputable noise of a growl -- they’re delighted by that particular capture -- and the second is a faint but clear whisper of a singular word: ‘up.’

One of Killian’s brows arches again and he nods his head towards the floor above them. “Well, you heard them.”

The team makes their way up the last flight of stairs and immediately they note the change in the air. It feels...thicker somehow, suffocating, and it’s dropped several degrees in temperature. Not so much that they could call it evidence, but enough that it makes them all jittery.

Emma looks into one of the cameras as they all clear the final step. “It’s different up here,” she observes for the viewers, remembering how important it is to draw them in and make them feel as much a part of the investigation as she can. “Colder, heavy-”

“Unpleasant,” Killian pipes up.

She turns her head towards him and nods her confirmation, then she’s looking around, her trained eyes drifting to each door. She’s not necessarily _looking_ for something in particular, just observing, and waiting to see if her intuition picks up on anything. When she eyes the door furthest from them, the one straight across from where they’ve all gathered in the hallway, she gets a little tingle between her shoulder blades.

“What is it, Swan?” Killian asks her.

She can tell he’s been watching her again, something he’s been doing a lot of since he kissed her hand in the tent. It’s almost as rattling as the encounters they’re currently experiencing. 

The Sister fidgets nervously beside her and Emma shoots her a glance. Her face is very telling. “What’s with that room?” Emma gestures towards the door that set off her senses.

Sister Gorham chuckles quietly to herself, just once, but it’s enough to make the hair on Emma’s arms raise. 

“Come on,” the Sister says. “I’m not surprised you were led straight to it.”

The walk down the hallway feels like a lifetime, a very tense, very nerve-wracking lifetime. Emma notices that Killian angles himself to cut ahead of her, making sure to be the first to enter. He holds his arm up behind him, as if to keep her away, and she’d have run straight into him if she hadn’t been paying attention. She’s just about to ask what the hell is going on when something crunches beneath Killian’s feet and makes him grimace. 

He looks down, then back at the camera. “Dead bird.”

Emma frowns, both concerned and confused as she looks in Mary Margaret’s direction. She doesn’t remember coming across any other dead animals earlier during the investigation.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mutters under his breath, stepping further into the room.

“What?” Emma asks, craning her neck to see over his shoulder and into the pitch black room. “What is it?”

“Stay here,” he replies.

“What? Why?”

“Just hold on for a minute,” he tells her, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes Emma press her lips together as she hangs back. “Liam, Dave.” He motions at them to step forward into the room with him, and the lights from the cameras help to illuminate a little bit of the large space.

“Holy shit,” David breathes, and Emma tries to get another peek around all of the men’s large frames.

“There are dozens of dead birds,” Killian states quietly, and despite the chill that works its way down her spine, Emma shoves past him to get inside.

He wasn’t over-exaggerating, she realizes, pulling a small flashlight from the back pocket of her jeans. She flicks it on before shining it around into the places the camera lights don’t reach. It’s a barren room, spacious, with high ceilings and yellow wallpaper lining the walls. There’s a creepy short story about yellow wallpaper by Charlotte something or other that she tries to recall, but her brain is too distracted by Killian’s startling discovery.

Carcasses are indeed everywhere, which normally wouldn’t be so strange considering it’s not that difficult for small animals to wander into a vacant property and get lost, or in these cases, trapped. But what _is_ strange is the sheer volume of birds. Well, _that_ and the fact that there are no windows. Just the one door that was closed when they found it. 

“What’s so...special about this particular room?” Liam asks, breaking the deafening silence.

All heads turn back to Sister Gorham, who has chosen to remain just beyond the door, looking anxious as ever. 

“An exorcism was performed here.”

The second she says it, in true Hollywood fashion, the room bursts to life with activity. The temperature drops, enough that Emma feels the chill down to her bones and fights to keep from trembling. All of their equipment begins to go wonky, the EMF detectors spike off the charts, audio on their microphones kicks out despite the batteries being brand new, even Liam’s camera shuts off and won’t turn back on. Killian waves his digital recorder at her, signaling that it, too, is no longer functional and Emma passes him hers so they can conduct another impromptu EVP session.

“Is somebody here?” He pauses for a beat. “Let’s have a chat, mate, right into this red light. Can you tell me whose room this was?”

“Do you not like people being here?” Emma speaks soon after. “Do you want us to leave?”

It feels like forever while they wait for something to happen again, but she knows it’s just been a few moments, and as quickly as the room had come alive, it abruptly goes still with inactivity. The most notable changes are that it’s no longer cold, the air no longer suffocating, and the tension amongst them completely dissipates. She sees that Mary Margaret and David’s cameras are still rolling on them even without properly working audio, but that’s alright, they’ll simply add captions in post-production for these scenes. Either she or Killian could also add voice overs at the discretion of the producers.

Killian turns his head, exchanging a look with her before rewinding the playback on her recorder. She reaches up, absentmindedly finding purchase on her necklace while she waits with bated breath.

_“Is somebody here? Let’s have a chat, mate, right into this red light. Can you tell me whose room this was?”_

They receive a response. It’s a quiet hiss, but clear and definite. 

_Fuck you, it’s mine._

She doesn’t shudder, though she certainly wants to, and then her own voice comes over the recorder.

_“Do you not like people being here? Do you want us to leave?”_

The second response is the most unsettling thing she’s ever heard in her career as a paranormal investigator.

_Want...Emma._

She doesn’t spook easily, but fear takes its persistent fingers and grips tight around her heart. Killian steps up behind her, the slight shifting of his body unmistakably protective in nature, and for a brief moment she thinks he might even touch her. A hand to the shoulder, maybe to her back; some offering of support and solidarity that she would have welcomed under the circumstances, but it never comes. She glances at him, noting that his eyes have taken on a troubled, storm-blue hue, the gray blocking out the flecks of gold normally present there. 

He’s worried. About the recording, the haunt, _her_. It’s...sweet, in a very unexpected way, but completely unnecessary. She can handle whatever waits in the dark, and she’s just about to tell him so when the elder Jones interrupts.

“Well, I suppose we know who we’re sending here tonight,” Liam chuckles, setting his camera on the floor and pulling a roll of black tape from his back pocket to lay down an ‘x’ without prompting. 

The glare Killian shoots his brother is cutting, clearly finding Liam’s attempt at lightening the mood wholly unfunny. Emma smiles weakly and makes some noise of agreement, but she swivels quickly on her heel and shuffles out of the room. She’s had enough excitement for the time being and they still have much to do before the lockdown. 

Back outside, she accepts the thermos of hot chocolate Granny has waiting for her and takes a moment to calm her nerves. Granny doesn’t ask if she’s okay, but one look at Emma has a deep frown settling onto her face. Emma moves away, walking towards the tent they’ve set up outside while they film this segment.

They’ll need to switch batteries on the microphones and do another equipment check before they swap out with the rest of the team and have Granny do her own walk-through without Sister Gorham. She’s half tempted to warn Granny about the eerie room on the third floor, but she knows Granny will pick up on it. She always does.

There are footsteps behind her, the quick gait of someone trying to catch up. Her ears have been trained to pick up the smallest details in noise, though, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Killian.

“Swan,” he says.

She ignores him, listening to their boots crunch along the gravelly road, and stops only to avoid running into him when he blocks her path. 

“I want to be perfectly clear about something,” she tells him, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Alright,” he replies slowly. “What’s that?”

“I’ve watched enough of your show to know about the methods you use on your investigations.”

His lips tip up at that, his expression shifting into something soft and pleasantly surprised. “You watch my show?”

“Not the point,” she huffs.

“Then what is the point?”

“You’re not to use provocation tonight, are we clear?”

Provocation in their field entails deliberately angering the entities in order to elicit some kind of response. It can be very dangerous when dealing with intelligent spirits and even more so when dealing with one that knows you by name. Aside from seeing firsthand how provocation can cause real, physical harm, she’s also heard all of the horror stories from other professionals in their field, people who have been scratched, pushed down stairs, and even had objects thrown at them. But she’s never dealt with it on a personal level and she’s not about to start now. It’s a technique Emma’s team has never used, and it’s one they never will, even if it’s one Killian regularly does.

He doesn’t even hesitate, holding his hands up as a gesture of peace. “Of course, love. I understand it’s not for everyone. I’ll let my team know.”

“Not your love,” she mutters, attempting to move away from him and continue towards the tent.

“Swan, wait,” he tries again.

“What?” she snaps irritably.

Their eyes lock but he doesn’t speak right away, hesitating, like he’s not sure what to say or if he even should, and then he does that thing again, where his face goes all soft and his eyes fill with concern. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how it makes her feel; too exposed, too vulnerable, too much like she might let him soothe her if he offered to.

“What happened in there-”

“Don’t,” she warns, cutting him off. “I’m fine.” She tries to muscle past him again, but he reaches out, grips her arm to tug her back and hold her in place. 

“No,” he says, taking a step towards her. “You’re not. You’re frightened.” 

He hasn’t been in her life long so it’s probably really inappropriate to make a character judgment, but she feels like she’s familiar with him enough that she could bet money that he makes it a point to know all the rules, simply so he can break them. Like with the concept of personal space, for instance. She’s absolutely certain he understands it, only because he never adheres to it.

“How would you know?” she demands.

“You’re something of an open book, darling.”

“Am I?”

“Quite.”

“Not your darling,” she replies instead, shrugging him off roughly and taking a step back. “We’re wasting time.”

“Swan, it’s alright to be scared.” 

He lifts his hand like he means to touch her again. He doesn’t, but the gesture draws her eyes down to where it hovers near her arm. She looks up at him after a minute and gives him an exasperated look. 

“Emma, I just wanted to let you know that I do know what it feels like, to be known by some unseen... _thing_. To hear your name spoken by evil-”

“I know what this is,” she interrupts, refusing to allow him to continue. “This- you- you know, trying to...bond with me.” The small smile she gives him is tired. “So save your breath. I’m not in the mood.”

This time, when she brushes by him to leave, he doesn’t try to stop her. Emma pauses at the entrance of the tent, taking a moment to glance back at the looming structure. At Killian standing there watching after her. 

As the tent flap rustles closed behind her, she can’t recall ever visiting a place quite like this. It’s beyond chilling, enough that she briefly wonders if they should even carry on with the investigation. It’s a silly thought, gone as quickly as it came, because with the kind of activity they’ve already experienced, _of course_ they should. She knows that it will be a great night for capturing evidence for their field and will undoubtedly prove to be an equally thrilling experience for the audience at home, and if the audience is happy, the network is happy.

 _Everybody wins_ , she thinks, even as another chill makes her shoulders jerk with the force of her shiver.

* * *

The first time Killian had seen a ghost, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was _seeing_ one. After his longtime love had passed away and he’d slipped into a heavy, inconsolable depression for more than half the year, Liam had taken it upon himself to attempt to pull his brother back from the edge and help him work through his grief. 

Backpacking across Europe for three months was hardly how Killian wanted to spend his time, though, especially with Liam’s overzealously chipper attitude about every place they were to visit. He appreciated the effort, he truly did, but Liam was trying far too hard, and Killian very much would have preferred getting lost in the bottom of a bottle of rum than in some flea market in Italy.

It was too destructive of behavior though, according to Liam, so Killian had begrudgingly packed his bag and reluctantly gotten on the plane after his brother. The first part of the trip didn’t go so well; they’d spent more time arguing than actually enjoying the sights and touristy things Liam had put on their itinerary. One particularly bad row had sent Killian straight to the nearest bar where he’d drowned away his troubles for hours. He was piss drunk by the time he made it back to the hostel and had fallen into bed.

He’d woken up at 3:33 AM on the dot, unnaturally chilled, and upon sitting up in bed had found his dead girlfriend sitting at the foot of it. He’d been stunned, to say the least, the unmistakable outline of her sending a fierce ache through his heart. But it had been unnerving as well, because he couldn’t just see her, he could see _through_ her. 

This hadn’t been a dream. He’d dreamt of her for months after she’d passed, and this reality was vastly different from the imaginary ones that had been in his head. He knew immediately that this was something else, he knew because he could feel the pain caused by the nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly together. He was wide awake, fully conscious, and he’d been frozen in place, afraid that even the slightest of movements would send her away again, when all he wanted was for her to be there, to stay.

She’d tilted her head at him then, in that way she often did when she thought he was being unreasonably difficult. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, there was too much he wanted to say and even more he hadn’t when he should have. She seemed to understand, though, her smile infinitely forgiving. And sad. Then she’d gotten up and walked closer to him, and all he could do was stare at her as she reached out and fluffed the hair falling over his brow -- an old, loving gesture, and his heart stumbled as much as it had the very first time.

He’d blinked owlishly at her, and then she’d disappeared right before his eyes. The next day, he’d stopped into a local bookstore and picked up his first book on the paranormal. The rest, as they so often say, was history.

But even that rattling, life-changing experience was nothing compared to seeing Emma Swan for the first time. He remembers everything about that night, the fun the men were having, the drinks they’d been toasting with, the water he’d been nursing, the stuffiness of his suit, and Liam wordlessly nudging his shoulder to lighten up. 

It had been their first network party. After a grueling pitch meeting that resulted in a preliminary thirteen-episode contract, he and the team took it as not only an opportunity to celebrate, but as a chance to schmooze with the people that had so generously put them on their payroll, and as the new kids on the block, also introduce themselves to their colleagues on the other shows.

He hated crowds, though. He’d always been more of an introvert, a ‘hiding-in-shadowy-corners' kind of a guy that liked his own company better than others, and because of that, his innate adaptability was very much a curse. Being a chameleon did occasionally have its perks, however. He was able to charm his way around anyone -- men and women alike (but women especially), overprotective parents, babies, old ladies crossing the street, stuffy network executives who insisted they didn’t need another ghost hunting show because they already had one. 

Killian Jones was very persuasive when he needed to be, firm and unrelenting when the occasion called for it, and he could also just be a man, knocked onto his ass -- quite literally -- when a whirlwind of blonde hair, short red miniskirt and legs for days had clipped him on her rush to get past. 

She’d muttered an apology, dazzling green eyes focusing on him only long enough to confirm that he was alright, before she’d promptly turned on her heel and continued out of the room, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

“Emma! Where are you going?” a voice called after her. It had been a petite woman with dark, pixie-cut hair and bold red lips who had only half-heartedly followed after her. “We’re off the clock!”

“Are we ever really, though, Mary Margaret?” Emma had answered, turning to look at her friend. She hadn’t stopped, though, walking backwards and refusing to be deterred from leaving. “Ruby’s got the audio from the last haunt, the one we couldn’t figure out!”

“Can’t it wait?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow!” was her reply, smile beaming as she’d waved and disappeared around a corner.

Killian had remained on the floor, unblinking, stunned, not so much from the fall, but from the unmistakable feeling of having his world metaphorically tilted on end.

“Was that that Swan girl?” Robin had asked, grasping one of his arms and helping Liam drag him up off the floor.

“Bloody rude was what that was,” Liam muttered back, brushing at his lapels and righting his tie. “You good?”

“Aye,” he’d replied. It was all he’d said, eyes still trained on the spot where the woman had been.

He knew who she was, of course. Everyone who was anyone in their field knew Emma Swan by reputation first and model-gorgeous looks second. She was a legend, a champion for paranormal research, a weekly staple in his household (he’d never missed an episode of her show). He knew who she was, but he couldn’t have known how soon his life was going to change now that he’d unofficially met her.

A year or so had passed and he’d never worked up the nerve to reach out and talk to her, just admired her and her work from afar. Then the network had contacted him about doing a joint investigation with the cast of one of their other popular shows for the upcoming Halloween season. He knew the politics of the business, the endless need to drive up viewership and create buzz, but that didn’t mean he had to like it, especially if they were bringing on amateur guests who weren’t even in the field of paranormal research. Imagine how he felt, then, when he’d discovered that Emma’s was the other show. He couldn’t believe his good luck and how the tides had decidedly turned in his favor.

The official meeting, one he’d never admit to imagining a million times, hadn’t been quite what he thought it would be, considering she had less than pleasant things to say about him, but he understood where she was coming from. He had always been deliberate about how he portrayed himself to people. The ‘dashing rapscallion’ persona was nothing more than an act, just like Emma’s tough girl, no-nonsense exterior was. 

Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to say before they’d even become acquainted, but he’d been an admirer of hers for a very long time, not just in her work, but in _her_ , and she’d become rather easy to read. She wasn’t as hard or closed off as she wanted people to believe. She simply desired to be respected, longed for others to care about her truth, wanted to be _seen_.

He liked to think he had a keen sense of perception, years largely spent being an observer of people honing that particular skill, and that he could see the things most people couldn’t, the little nuances that made Emma who she was. What made her smile, what gave her pride, what worried her that she would try to hide, the fierce love and loyalty she carried around for those closest to her, the glimpses of the lost girl just trying to find her way. She was layered and fascinating and beautiful, and alright, maybe in the privacy of his mind he could admit that he was a little crazy about her. 

And by ‘a little,’ he might mean ‘ _a lot_.’

He hasn’t been interested in someone like this in a very long time, and it’s been a dream to work alongside her all day, not just because of the little crush he’s been harboring, but because it’s Emma and what she means to their field. It’s almost like taking a masterclass in research and presentation; he’s learning so much just by watching her work, observing her process, listening to her iron out the secrets and truth of the location they’re investigating. He can only imagine the kind of stress and anxiety she’s under, particularly with how personal this location has suddenly turned for her, but she’s handling herself with the utmost of professionalism and confidence, a fearlessness he can’t help but marvel at.

He knows, too, without her having to say, about the extreme pressure she’s under to deliver a good story for this episode, especially now that she’s very much at the center of it, instead of just being on the outside _telling_ it with the rest of them. In the privacy of his mind, he can also admit that he’s worried about her and that even if she never asks, he will be there to support her in any way he can. 

It’s why he snuck away from the team after he’d finished his dinner, taking a broom, a few trash bags and several lanterns with him before going back into the house by himself; he wanted to clear the Exorcism room of the bird carcasses. He would have spared Emma from that room altogether if it were possible, but they have a job to do and his hands are tied, so the very least he can do if he can’t protect her from that, is to make her as comfortable as possible in the tough situation.

The room is as empty as it was when they’d first done the walk-through, but it also _feels_ empty, like whatever had been there before simply just...wasn’t now. He knows in his gut that that's a lie. 

He sets up the light sources first in an attempt to chase off the darkness. Now that the entirety of the room is illuminated, he gets a real sense for what he’s dealing with. It’s still an unsettling sight to see all of the birds again -- mourning doves, he knows, because he’d overheard Mary Margaret murmuring to David about it earlier. They had dual symbolic meanings, he’d learned, representing grief from the loss of a loved one but also hope and peace.

It’s fitting, he thinks, considering the tragic story about Regina and Daniel, but he’s not entirely sure what to make of the representation for hope and peace being snuffed out en masse. Okay, that’s not true, he does know, he just doesn’t want to admit it because the implications of it are terrifying.

He puts the supplies down by the stationary camera Liam had set up before dinner and rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he surveys the space. He is still uneasy about the events that had taken place earlier, the voices over the recorder knowing Emma by name and the significance of that, but he hopes the task at hand will distract him from his worrying so he grabs the broom and begins to clean.

“You’re a traveler,” a voice pipes up from the doorway, and when he turns, he finds old widow Lucas blocking the entrance with her robust frame.

Killian blinks at her, confused. “Pardon?”

“Your tattoo,” she says.

His eyes automatically move to the tattoo on the inside of his foreman -- a flaming heart with a dagger through it, a tribute to a lost love.

“Not that one,” Granny says, her gaze steady on his. “Though there is quite a story there.” 

“I-” he starts, but she simply brushes him off with a wave of her hand.

“That’s for you to tell, and certainly not to me. I’m more interested in the one on your back.”

He stares at her, unblinking. He did, in fact, have a new piece of ink, something he’d gotten fairly recently, actually. It was a compass rose, placed on his shoulder blade, but he had yet to tell anyone about it.

“How...do you know I have a tattoo on my back?”

Granny just smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling with the gesture. “I know a fair bit about many things, Killian Jones. For instance, I know that you’ve been here, too.”

“Aye, we were just here a few hours ago filming.”

She chuckles at him. “No, dear, before.”

It takes him a moment to gather her meaning, but when he does, his brow arches up sharply. She’s talking about _before_ before, as in a past life. Like Emma supposedly had been. “Have I?”

Her lips tip up further, mysterious and all-knowing as she keeps her cards close, and then she makes to leave. At the last second, she turns back. “Do you make it a habit of cleaning out haunted rooms with dead birds, or is my girl just lucky?”

“You know what they say, Granny. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness,’” he grins, expertly avoiding the second part of her question.

Granny seems unfazed by his deflection, in fact, she looks to be pleased, nodding once at him. “You’ll watch her back tonight,” she says. 

It’s statement, not a question. “Of course.”

She swivels to depart again. “Good. She’ll need you.” 

Not ‘she’ll need you _to_ ,’ just ‘she’ll need _you._ ’ A deliberate choice of words, he imagines. “Granny?” 

She pauses, twisting her head to look at him. “Yes, dear?”

“How do I keep her safe?”

“The world is such a funny place, don’t you think? Somehow we always end up where we’re meant to, over and over and over.” She smiles again, her expression soft, and he can’t help but feel like he’s gotten the Granny stamp of approval. “You’ll figure it out, Killian Jones. You always do. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you have quite a keen sense of direction, even in the toughest of waters.” And with a last little wink, she departs, leaving Killian alone to ponder over his demons...and Emma’s.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the daylight hours pass by uneventfully, but the mundane tasks pre-lockdown do little to ease the tension that sits like a heavy cloud above the teams. Anticipation keeps building, as do excitement and nervousness in equal measure, becoming more pronounced with every growing shadow caused by the sun dipping lower and lower below the horizon.

Emma, while adjusting her boots in the van on the ride from town to the mansion, recognizes the flutter in her stomach as anxiety, and attempts to focus her breathing to center herself. Mary Margaret, as she often does, is filming Emma’s little rituals, the knotting of her laces, the way she ties her hair back in a sleek ponytail, how she checks the clasp on the St. Christopher’s necklace around her neck, but she wears the intrusive gaze of the lens like another piece of armor, reminding herself that the audience loves to see these pensive shots of her inserted throughout the first parts of the show. Her honesty. Her bravery in the face of the unknown. Her vulnerability.

It’s not until the vehicle stops in front of the old structure and she jumps out, sliding into her favored red leather jacket, can she feel the surge of adrenaline in her veins. She transforms once it’s on, like a warrior ready for battle, and that, more than anything, calms her the most. The jacket itself is nothing special. It’s not charmed, doesn’t bring any good luck or ward off evil spirits. It’s just a jacket, butter soft with age and use, but it’s become iconic to the show, to _her_ , and she has yet to film a lockdown without it.

Her boots click against the pavement, echoing in her ears as she climbs the stone steps with the rest of her group following close behind. The teams had agreed earlier to set up homebase in one of the ballrooms on the first floor, and when they cross the entryway, it becomes apparent very quickly that Killian’s team had arrived first. It’s like an entirely different world when they step into the chosen room, the solemn energy she’d been feeling for most of the drive replaced by a wild raucousness that reminds her of a Vegas bar on New Year’s Eve -- complete and utter chaos. 

AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” blares so loudly from someone’s cell phone, the noise is more garbled and grating than pleasant. Liam’s laugh, howling and verging on obnoxious, makes her eye twitch. Empty beer bottles litter various surfaces, and to her endless annoyance, full ones sit cheerfully in some eager hands still. A mini football goes sailing past her head, close enough that she swears she feels it graze her ear, and she ducks out of the way out of reflex. 

There’s a loud whoop from Arthur when Robin makes the catch, and both men do a little celebratory dance in their imaginary endzone. The rest of the team erupts into cheers at their antics and Emma swears under her breath. Killian is the first to notice her, and she has the pure satisfaction of watching him choke on whatever is in the flask he’d been sipping from. When their eyes meet, his go wide. He hits Merlin on the shoulder with his hand while attempting to control the coughs erupting from his chest.

“ _Ow!_ What the bloody hell was that for?”

“Turn it off-”

“Turn what off-”

“ _That blasted phone!_ ” 

Merlin, confused, follows Killian’s gaze until he spots Emma. “ _Ohhh,_ ” is all he says but the word is weighted and he scrambles to press the stop button on his music player the same moment Killian searches for a place to set down his drink. Killian smiles sheepishly at her when the song abruptly cuts off and the room returns to more appropriate levels of noise.

“Swan,” he starts, embarrassed chuckle making his voice sound even lower than it usually is. “Hello.”

Her eyes narrow at the tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks. 

“We were just- ah,” he says by way of explanation, scratching behind his ear as the rest of his words trail off. 

“Pre-show ritual?” she wonders, voice clipped. 

“Of a sort,” he answers.

“Well, if you’re finished, we have a special to film.”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, love,” Liam calls out, making a show of finishing off the rest of his beer. “We were just having a bit of fun before you suck it all out of everything.” 

The smile Liam gives her is as sharp as a knife, but the look Emma sends back is even sharper. She takes a step forward, intent on getting in his face about his problem with her, and she can hear David just half a stride behind her, but whether he means to defend her honor or pull her back, she’s not sure. Granny, sly as a fox, moves in front of her to block their path.

“I’d mind that tongue, boy, if you wish to keep it,” she says to Liam. Her tone is pleasant enough, but the warning is still there. 

“ _Boy?_ ” He bristles.

“If that’s how you want to behave, that’s what you’ll be called. We’re in for a long night as it is, quit poking the cactus, she’s pricklier than you can handle. And you,” Granny continues, turning towards Emma and promptly cutting off her protests to being likened to a _cactus_. “Quit being an easy target, you’ll give him the satisfaction. As for the rest of you hooligans, if you’re done dilly dallying, the sun sets in exactly eleven minutes, and if there are things you need to do before we’re stuck here for twelve hours, like leave, you’d best do it now, and for the love of god, will somebody get me a damn coffee?”

And just like that, the whole situation is defused with a grandmother’s expert touch. The room erupts into a flurry of activity once more, the teams dispersing and going about their final preparations for the lockdown. Beside her, Elsa whistles a familiar tune while she checks the connections on the TV monitors, sending her a wink when Emma turns to glare at her.

_I'm on the highway to hell_

_On the highway to hell_

_Highway to hell_

_I'm on the highway to hell_

* * *

The debriefing table is circular, but Emma is clearly standing at the head of it. They have mere minutes left before the sun disappears for the day and Sister Gorham locks them inside the mansion until sunrise, so she’s all business now, mind mapping out the course of the night -- which teams, which rooms, which hours. She taps at one of the floor plans with her index finger. 

“Alright, so my team will take the upper level of the mansion-”

“Hang on, your team?” Killian interrupts. “Wasn’t the whole purpose of this night to be a joint investigation?”

“Whatever’s in the Exorcism room wants me in there, so it only makes sense-”

“I’m not talking about the rooms, Swan, I’m talking about how we split the teams. We should mix all of us up-”

“Okay, fine, then I’ll take the archer and the wizard,” she nods at Robin and Merlin, already deciding they are the least harmless of Killian’s group and the least likely to get in her way or spend the evening arguing with her. “You can have Granny and Mary Margaret.”

“Ah, I’m just the tech guy,” Merlin says gently, his smile warm and very much hoping he isn’t involved in the quarrel more than he needs to be. “I have to stay here with Elsa. But you can have Arthur if you like.”

Without missing a beat, she says, “I’ll just take the archer.”

“Ohh, are you sure, love? Wouldn’t you much rather have a king?” Arthur pipes up.

Emma gives him a bland stare at that remark, ignoring the way his gaze rakes over her and how Killian looks like he wants to deck him. She has to bite back on the sarcastic comment she’d like to make about how very nice it is to see that the Jones inclination for being obnoxious, is a trait that managed to trickle down Arthur’s branch of the family tree too.

Killian continues to scowl, but he focuses his attention back to her. “I think the network would want its two leads to-”

“To each head a team,” Emma insists.

“The viewers won’t want to see that-”

Emma shrugs. “I don’t care what the viewers-”

“They’ll want us to do that room together- well, _that’s a lie_. You care very much about what they think, Swan, and-”

“Okay, now _really_ isn’t the time to be arguing, Killian, and _I_ think that-”

“Oh, nobody gives a rat’s ass what _you_ think,” Liam snaps, chiming in again and sending Emma’s brows shooting up into her hairline. She hasn’t decided yet if he really is fearless or simply just reckless. “Despite what that ego of yours likes to believe, you’re not lead on this investigation, Ms. Swan, and my little brother-”

“ _Liam_ ,” Killian hisses between clenched teeth.

“No,” he replies, turning to face Killian. “That woman has been nothing but rude and disrespectful since we’ve arrived, and I will not allow her to continue to berate and question-”

“ _Rude_?” Emma scoffs. “The only one who’s been _rude_ through this _entire_ process has been you! How dare you come here and-”

A loud whistle cuts through the arguing, a pointed demand for silence. “ _Alright, now that’s enough!_ ” Granny huffs, glowering at all of them. “Never, in all my years of life, have I ever been witness to such enormous egos. You should all be ashamed of your behavior!”

“Granny-” Emma tries to soothe.

“No. You listen here, young lady, all of you listen up because I’m old and I don’t like to repeat myself. We have twelve hours to get through one of the most haunted locations I’ve set foot in, and if you even want to have a _chance_ at surviving, we have to stick together. There’s enough negativity here to fuel all the bulbs required to light this baby up, we don’t need to add to any more of it.”

“She has a point,” Killian agrees, turning on what Emma recognizes as his most dashing smile as he drapes a companionable arm across Granny’s shoulders. “What do you suggest, m’lady?”

Granny narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t you turn that charm on me, you little rapscallion. I didn’t get to be this old without knowing when someone was pulling the wool over my eyes.”

Killian’s eyes widen innocently and it takes everything in Emma not to snort out her laugh.

“Oh, Granny,” he coos, chuckle light and chiming. “I’m not trying to pull any wool over your eyes. I’m simply suggesting that if you have a proper way of doing this-”

“We’ll draw straws,” Granny says matter-of-factly, as if it were quite obvious that was the only option they had.

“Great,” Killian agrees, turning to Robin with a bright smile on his face. “Robin, mate, do you mind grabbing some straws for us?”

He gives Killian a look as if to say, ‘ _where the bloody hell do you expect me to find straws in this place?_ ’ but he departs the room anyway. While they wait, the teams go on to film the official lockdown ritual. Emma is twisted at the waist, attempting to adjust the battery pack clipped into her jeans without taking it off, when Killian approaches.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?” She asks without looking up.

“I wanted to apologize about earlier.” It’s the gentleness of his voice that makes her finally lift her gaze to his. “I know the men can be a handful sometimes-”

Her sigh is heavy but forgiving. She’s tired of the bickering. “Let’s just forget about it, alright?”

He smiles in thanks, but doesn’t leave like she expects him to. Instead, he moves closer, fingers nudging hers away so he can help her with the settings on the pack. She feels the soft brush of them against skin, just once, and she knows it wasn’t deliberate, just a consequence of proximity, but she turns away and hopes he doesn’t see the uncontrollable redness that spreads from her neck to her face.

“All set,” he tells her when he’s finished tinkering.

“Thanks,” she murmurs without glancing back, moving away towards the monitors to check on Elsa and Merlin’s progress, and effectively putting some distance between them. She has enough to worry about already, she doesn’t need to be distracted by Killian Jones and that strange, unspoken, yet obvious connection insistently pulling them together.

She hovers behind Merlin, arms crossing over her chest as her eyes flit from screen to screen. They’ve set up several stationary night vision cameras outside around the perimeter of the mansion, one of them pointing at the front entrance. Emma watches as Sister Gorham chains the two front doors together with a padlock. It’s more for show than anything else; the network always has a “stealth crew” on standby during the investigations as a safety precaution, in case they ever run into any trouble. 

During instances of extreme emergencies, they’d be able to request for the doors to be unlocked, but Emma and her team have only had to do that once. It happened during the first season, when David had a bad plate of chow mein for dinner and they’d had to pause filming so they could signal for the side door to be opened and he could go relieve himself. Quite a bit of unintentional humor was added to that episode and she remembers that her mentions on social media the night it aired had been destroyed by the incredibly amused fans who started the ‘Doody David’ hashtag. 

Emma’s thoughts are interrupted by a chorus of snickering and when she looks to her right, she sees that Killian’s group is back at it with their antics, filming a shot of Arthur leaning his forehead on the window closest to the door. One of his hands is pressed to the glass while he stares longingly outside, highlighting the loss of their freedom with the click of the lock. There’s a chuckle from Liam, followed by a few obnoxious encouragements to play it up for the camera.

She pays them no mind, refusing to let them bother her, and instead keeps her gaze trained on the Sister’s image. The nun pauses as she turns to go and Emma immediately notices the stiffness in her body. It makes her own body agitated.

“Killian,” she says, calling him over. She doesn’t know why she does it, just that something in her gut tells her to. 

At that one utterance from her, the active cameras redirect towards them. She’s holding her breath, doesn’t realize it until he steps up beside her and the motion of his body brushing her elbow makes her exhale. His hand falls to the small of her back, the gesture somehow casual and familiar, and shockingly not unwelcome.

“What is it?” he asks, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the monitor intently.

Maybe it’s because her senses are on overdrive, heightened by instinct and that ‘standing-on-the-edge-of-a-cliff’ apprehension that comes at the start of every lockdown, but she swears she can feel six points of heat, the firm press of each of his fingers plus the palm of his hand against her body despite several layers of clothes. 

“I’m not sure,” she murmurs, trying to ignore his closeness again, the abrupt sense of intimacy that shouldn’t be there but is. Her eyes narrow as she continues to watch and wait.

And there it is. 

It happens in an instant, the unmistakable shudder that passes through Sister Gorham as a piece of her hair lifts from the back of her head, clear as day. She rushes down the steps the same moment Killian makes an excited ‘whoop’ and drops his hand from Emma’s back. 

“Holy shit, did you get that?” His eyes are alight, grin wide as he points at Liam’s camera. “Did you get it? Did you see?”

“Somebody get me that footage,” she demands, and she’s glad to find that she’s back on familiar ground, this latest piece of evidence erasing the ghost of Killian’s touch. She whirls on the teams, her heart beating an unsteady staccato rhythm in her chest. “Play it back right now.”

It’s David who steps up, tilting his camera screen towards her as he rewinds the tape for her and Killian. 

“Maybe it was just the wind,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. 

Emma is always the first to try to debunk an experience, taking into account other possible non-supernatural factors that might have caused the incident. It’s important not just for the audience at home to have skepticism even if they are believers, but for her to have it as well. The eyes can easily be deceived, after all. 

“Impossible,” Killian shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t _all_ of her hair lift?”

“And did you see her posture?” Liam adds. “She definitely _felt_ something.”

“And her face, the expression on it,” Mary Margaret agrees, locking eyes with Emma. “She looked visibly shaken.”

They all have fair points, Emma has to admit, and sometimes it’s not so much one thing that makes a piece of evidence solid, but several.

“Right there,” Killian exclaims suddenly, pointing at the tiny monitor on the camera when that one piece of hair lifts on its own. “That’s incredible.”

David looks into Mary Margaret’s camera, lifts his own at her to show the audience the frozen image. “That’s the money shot right there,” he smiles. “Wow. _Wow!_ ”

“We’ve barely even started!” Arthur laughs elatedly. 

“Perhaps our special should be three-hours instead of the standard two,” Liam chuckles back, raising his hand to Arthur for a celebratory fist bump.

Robin reappears at the threshold, clutching a handful of straws he’d managed to miraculously scrounge up from who knows where. “What did I miss?” he wonders, eyeing all of the commotion and looking slightly put-out that he’d missed all the fun.

It was no more than a second, a tiny blip of a moment in their twelve hour night, but it goes a long way in raising the excitement of the teams. For Emma, however, it also fills her insides with worry, with dread for what awaits.

* * *

It takes longer than Emma would like for the whole process of selecting teams to be done, but then patience has never really been her strong suit, particularly when it feels like they are wasting precious minutes. She sits on the edge of a table with her arms crossed, waiting to see the outcomes of the straw-drawings and tapping at her bicep where her hand rests. At the conclusion of it all, it’s her bad fortune that she ends up with _both_ Jones men on her team. Killian is, of course, delighted by that particular turn of events, while Liam looks like he’s contemplating jumping off the roof of the manor. 

Emma shares the sentiment.

The next few moments are spent designating tasks to each team, and as antsy as Emma is, she knows it’s necessary. She, Killian, and Liam will naturally take the top floor, while Mary Margaret and Robin are assigned the second. They’ll be armed with EMF devices and special cameras that will allow them to detect and record various temperature signatures. David and Arthur are to take the ground floor and will be using both old and new technology in various rooms to try to communicate with any possible spirits. 

Merlin and Elsa are the obvious choices to remain at homebase, being the A/V techs for both teams, and their main purpose is to watch the monitors and guide the crew through the house once all the light sources they’ve brought are turned off and the teams switch into night vision mode. Granny will be assisting Merlin and Elsa, venturing out to the teams as needed, and everyone has been advised to conduct EVP sessions at their discretions. 

“Alright,” Killian says while the teams are gathering the last of their equipment. “You run into any trouble with your tech, you head back here and get it sorted. Safety is our first priority, in this location especially. I want comms on at all times and regular check-ins throughout the night. Oh, and do try to look out for each other, hmm?”

He says the last bit with a wink that Emma knows is for the camera, but the look on his face when he turns his head towards her, the uncertainty and hesitancy swimming in the depthless blue of his eyes, the worry there...is all for her.

She gives Mary Margaret a quick squeeze and accepts David’s kiss to her cheek before they depart, smiling gently at the usual quiet, cautionary words he always leaves her with whenever they split up.

“Be careful, kid.”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” she teases back, poking playfully at his side. “I will.”

“I’m being serious, Emma. Especially in that room.”

“I know,” she sighs, switching her camera to night vision mode before glancing at him again. She smiles again, hoping her expression shows the bravery she doesn’t quite feel. “Don’t fret so much, it’s just another location. Twelve hours, dusk to dawn. Piece of cake.”

David mimics her sigh, sending a worried look in Liam’s direction. “I wish I were going with you. At least I know you’d be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Killian asks, appearing at her side and glancing at the camera in her hand to check her settings. He nods to himself, satisfied by what he sees on the screen.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Evil spirits. Your brother,” David replies curtly. “ _You_.”

Liam’s head swivels towards them at that and when his eyes narrow, Emma moves, strategically placing herself between Killian and David as she angles her body towards the younger Jones.

“Okay, Killian. We should get out of here. Before David decides to give you his ‘overprotective Dad’ speech.”

He turns on his most charming grin again, hoping to soothe her friend even as his hand comes up to touch her back as he had before. “Well, you can spare yourself the trouble, mate. I assure you, Emma couldn’t be in better hands.”

Emma watches as David considers their proximity, eyes the hand Killian had placed against her.

“That’s exactly what worries me.”

“I can take care of myself,” she tells him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

“We picked teams fair and square. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll yell on the comms if I need you.”

“Yeah, that’s comforting,” David mutters.

“You know what I mean,” she replies. “ _Okay_ ,” she says to the rest of them. “Everybody ready? Night vision mode on?” 

There’s a chorus of confirmation from the whole of the group and Emma looks at Elsa, sitting beside Merlin in the soft glow of the monitors and the one small lamp left on that sits atop the table between them. 

“All camera feeds are live,” Elsa tells her. “We’re good.”

She takes a deep breath, turns towards the doorway when she hears someone open it, and then steps forward into the chilling unknown. “Alright. Here we go.”

* * *

When the sun dipped below the horizon earlier, it took with it every last bit of light illuminating the mansion through the windows. Now, with all of their own light sources shut off, they are plunged into complete darkness. It settles around them like a thick fog, stealing their sight and intensifying their unease. The only way they can see now is through the green-white images from the night vision mode on their cameras. 

Emma forges ahead, heading for the stairs. Killian is behind her, chattering to his camera and setting the mood, painting a picture for the audience’s senses. She’s more than happy to let him, too busy lost in her thoughts and steeling her nerve to face whatever awaits her on the top floor. 

“Good luck,” she hears Mary Margaret say to David.

“Be safe,” he replies, and Emma doesn’t have to look to know that he kisses her before he and Arthur break away from the group.

“Goodbye, Liam,” Arthur says, making smooching noises at his cousin. “I’ll miss you.” 

“Sod off,” Liam laughs, and she can hear what sounds like him shoving Arthur away.

The teasing irks her as much as it does Daivd, she’s sure, but they both somehow manage to show incredible restraint and keep their mouths shut on the matter. There might have been a time that she would have hoped that David could make it through the night without decking anybody, but whatever happens to Arthur from here on out will be no one’s fault but his own.

When she gets to the base of the staircase, she begins to climb, ears attuned to the different sets of footsteps picking their way up with her. She holds onto the railing and keeps a steady gaze on the screen, being extra careful with every step. Suddenly, something catches her attention on the viewfinder and makes her body jolt. 

“Homebase,” she says, speaking for the camera as much as the comm snug in one of her ears. “Putting a verbal marker at this timestamp. Will you check the playback here and let me know if you see anything on the recording?”

“Roger that,” Elsa answers.

“What did you see?” Killian wonders from behind her, easing close when she clears the landing.

“I thought I saw something flit across the camera while we were heading up.”

“An orb?” Killian asks.

“Probably just some dust,” Liam mutters, and she knows his tone is two-fold, meant to question her expertise and irritate her by doing so.

She also knows that Killian is glaring at him again. 

“A shadow,” she answers quietly, moving away from the Jones men to begin her ascent to the third floor.

“Emma, be careful,” Mary Margaret calls after her, and Emma has just enough time to shoot her a thumbs-up before Mary Margaret turns and follows Robin down the corridor to start their investigation.

She’s made it about halfway when Merlin’s voice comes over the comms. “Emma, do you copy?”

“I’m here,” she replies, noting immediately that the heaviness they felt during their earlier walk-through is markedly absent. “What is it?”

“You were right,” Merlin says. “There was a shadow in the frame as you came up to the last steps, darting across the screen.”

“There’s no way it could have been mine?” She already knows the answer, but she asks for the viewers’ sake.

“We’ve identified your shadow, it’s stationary,” Elsa confirms. “This one...moves.”

“From left to right,” Merlin adds, and Emma is thankful that the darkness covers the shudder that passes through her. Though the slight tremor of the camera can’t be prevented, she doubts anyone will notice it as something other than the natural movement it makes because she’s walking.

“Robin,” Liam says into his own comm, and it’s all he has to say. 

“We’re on it,” Robin replies. “We’ll check it out.”

Satisfied by that, Emma resumes her trek towards the room at the end of the hall, not the least bit surprised to discover that Killian has somehow ended up in front of her. He’s done it so that Liam covers her rear, effectively placing her between the two of them, protecting her as he promised David he would. He turns midway down the corridor, his eyes glowing eerily in her monitor.

“Do you hear that?” he asks her.

She pauses, straining to identify a noise in the ringing quiet. “Hear what?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Nothing.”

The emptiness presses in around them, unnaturally devoid of sound, and she’s not entirely convinced that it isn’t somehow...intentional. Regardless, it’s spooky in an anticipatory kind of way, like how people tend to expect shit to hit the fan or wait for the other shoe to drop.

Killian keeps speaking to her, or rather, to her camera and the audience that will eventually be behind it. She’s only half paying attention to him, though, her eyes fixated on something else in the viewfinder, something behind him that he can’t see. It’s completely reflexive that she moves when he takes another step backwards.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Emma cries, rushing forward and reaching out to grab his arm and prevent him from going any further. The momentum of the tug sends his body directly into hers and before she can think about it, her arms find purchase around his waist in an attempt to steady them. Her face is all but pressed into his shoulder, the heat of him seeping into her chilled bones, and it’s the most balanced she’s felt all day, the most safe.

A confusing, frightening thought.

“It’s about bloody time,” he mumbles, voice seductively low and gruff and _flirting_. There’s an amused tone to it, and as his own arms wrap around her, it doesn’t go unnoticed that he seems entirely too comfortable with the action. In fact, he seems perfectly content to just stand there and hold her for the rest of the night.

Emma frowns, her flight response kicking in as she struggles to free herself from his hold. She grunts in protest when he doesn’t release her right away, heat creeping up into her cheeks despite her lack of sight because she’s _positive_ he’s grinning at her. Meanwhile, Liam is grumbling behind them to ‘ _cut it out and get on with the investigation_.’ After a few more moments of squirming, she manages to get her arms free enough that she can push away from him.

“It’s a broom,” she explains as she points to it. Then, remembering it’s too dark to see anything, she maneuvers her camera so the night vision can reveal the image to him. 

“Quite the danger,” Liam replies dryly, and she can hear it in his voice that he’s rolled his eyes.

Killian points his camera at her so he can see her in the dark. “Well, it’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but…” He reaches out with his free hand to fluff the hair that’s fallen over her shoulder, taking the opportunity to play up their banter for the camera by smoothing down the lapel of her jacket. “Next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

Undoubtedly the audience will eat this all up. He’s already established himself as a scoundrel of the best sort and this little interaction is just more fuel for the fire...and millions of viewers’ loins if the fan pages are anything to go by.

_Killian Jones is sex on legs!_

_Bless me father for I have sinned! I am having impure thoughts about a sexy English ghost hunter!_

_KILLIANFATHERMYCHILDRENPLSKTHXBAI_

Emma doesn’t swat his hand away but she’s damn close to doing it. “Let’s just go to the room and get it done.”

She realizes too late by the look on his face through the screen, that it was a poor choice of phrasing and that he wants so desperately to reply, a thousand inappropriate responses poised on his tongue while the corners of his mouth tip up in that infamous smirk. And because his camera is still trained on her, she arches her brow challengingly, daring him to engage. Instead, he considers her for several seconds, nodding slightly in agreement before sweeping his arm out and inviting her ahead of him. 

She mimics the motion. “After you,” she insists. 

He doesn’t stop looking at her, not until he hums quietly to himself and turns to move past her. On her viewfinder, she sees that he makes a show of stepping over the broom and scratching behind his ear as he does so. And the only reason she keeps her reaction to a minimum, is because she is fully aware that his brother’s camera is on her like a hawk.

When they enter the room again, it’s quiet and still in an excessively creepy way. Earlier, it had been so alive, erupting with tension and an energy that left all of them rattled. But now, it feels vacant, lifeless. 

Emma can make out a tiny red dot of light in one of the corners, signaling the recording of the camera they’d set up on a tripod earlier. 

“There’s a remarkable difference from the last time we were here,” Liam speaks up. He is all business as he explains the atmosphere, or rather, the significant lack of one, to the cameras and recalls the voices that had come through their digital recorder declaring that they -- whatever they were -- wanted Emma. 

She frowns to herself, amazed at how that one memory can so quickly fill her body with dread.

Killian takes out his recorder again and switches it on, intent on conducting another EVP session to attempt to incite further contact with the entity, or entities, that had been here earlier. She knows she has to be alone in the room at some point and that whatever experiences she has will be meticulously documented by the static camera as well as her own, so she is more than happy to allow the Jones men the opportunity to take lead on the investigation for now.

Forty minutes go by with Killian and Liam trading off questions without receiving even a single response. Emma jumps in every now and then, but she’s decided to save all of her good queries for later. 

“I don’t like this,” Killian says softly, shutting off the device and glancing in Liam’s direction.

“What?” his brother asks.

“How quiet it is. It’s like there’s nothing here.”

“Maybe there isn’t,” Emma agrees, even though in her gut, she knows that’s not true. “Maybe it’s gone.”

“But to where? It doesn’t make sense,” Killian ponders. “No, I think it’s still here.”

“What, like lying dormant?” Liam poses.

Killian nods. “Waiting, perhaps.”

“For what?”

Something flares in Emma’s stomach, a feeling that she can’t shake. “For me,” she says finally. “It wants me. It’s wanted me since earlier.”

“Alone,” Liam replies, understanding. 

She nods then shrugs. “That’s what my gut is telling me anyway.”

“I don’t think you should be left by yourself,” Killian pipes up, and though he’d been good about hiding it for a little while, she can hear the concern back in his voice. “Not anymore.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” she argues.

“To hell with the plan, Emma.” 

He shifts towards her, stands toe-to-toe with her, close enough that his frame blocks the view from her camera and darkens the already dim room even further. It’s a strange sensation knowing that Liam can see them from his viewfinder, and so can homebase from the stationary camera, but that she can’t. Can only feel the way his hand grips her arm, firm and pleading.

“Hey,” she says, lowering her voice. “You know I have to do this for the show.”

“The show will-”

“The producers are going to want this because the audience is going to want this, you know that. It’s going to be fine Killian. You and Liam are going to be right outside-”

“Actually, I was thinking we’d go off and explore a few other rooms on this floor. You know, really leave you by yourself.”

“Liam, for god’s sake,” Killian snaps.

“What? You heard her. She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine, it’s what the network and the people will want. Besides, _she_ wants to do this, Killian, so let her.”

His sigh sounds more like a huff, strained and nervous. “I’d like to state, for the record, that I don’t like this.”

She doesn’t either, but she’s not about to tell him that. Instead, she lifts her hand so that she can grasp his elbow and give it a reassuring squeeze, followed by a little push towards the door. “One hour, okay? Not a minute less.”

* * *

“One hour,” Killian says to Liam as he closes the door behind them. He lingers, pressing a hand to it and sighing heavily, uncaring that his brother is watching and is more than likely capturing the whole blasted thing on his camera. “Not a minute more.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam mutters. “Now come on, I want to go check out that room on the far end of the hallway. Maybe dear old Regina and her stableboy will come out to say ‘hello.’”

Killian rolls his eyes even though Liam can’t see and reluctantly follows him down the corridor, but not before casting a final glance at the room he’s willingly left Emma in. He sends up a silent prayer to whichever gods might be listening to keep her safe and just barely resists checking on her through the comms.

The mansion, from the beginning, has sent his skin crawling, driving the hairs on his arms to stand on end. That sensation never really went away when they had done their earlier investigation, moving from room to room and floor to floor, but now, he can’t shake the feeling that his surroundings continue to feel abnormally lacking in activity. There’s nothing here. Nothing that wants to make itself known anyway, not to _them_ , and it worries him.

Ahead of him, Liam begins to check-in with the various teams through the comms. Killian listens attentively to the updates but doesn’t speak, learning that it’s just as quiet on Mary Margaret and Robin’s end as it is on theirs. Homebase has nothing new and exciting to report either, but David and Arthur seem to be having a fair bit more luck. That’s to be expected, though. Sometimes they’ll do a location, spend all night there, and come out the other end with nothing to show for it. Every bit of evidence is almost like a piece of treasure to be collected, and when they split up like this, it’s only natural that some have more success with capturing things than others.

Emma’s voice is noticeably absent in his ear, but he still won’t allow himself to reach out to her. He’d promised to give her an hour and to his peril, he’s always been a man of his word. That doesn’t stop his troubled thoughts as he follows Liam into the last room, though. His brother babbles on into his camera for the audience’s sake, but Killian can’t pull it together enough to focus and chime in as he normally would.

Liam must sense his unease because he clears his throat and draws Killian’s attention towards him. “So…”

At his prolonged silence, Killian murmurs, “‘So,’ what?”

“Are we going to talk about what that was back there?”

“What ‘what’ was?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, little brother.”

“Younger,” he mutters absentmindedly.

“ _Killian_.” His voice is full of the kind of exasperation only a brother could incite.

It makes Killian sigh. “What, Liam? What is it you’d like to speak with me about?”

“About your little crush on Em-”

He moves with lightning speed, clamping a hand roughly over Liam’s mouth before he can finish the sentence. He reaches behind Liam, switching off the battery pack clipped onto the back of his pants that controls his microphone, then does the same with his own.

“Are you bloody serious right now?” he hisses at Liam.

Liam shrugs him off, swatting his hand away when they’ve effectively been cut off from the rest of the group’s ears. He points a warning finger at him. “Do that again, Killian, and I swear-”

“Stop recording,” Killian demands, pressing the button on his camera.

“They’ll see.”

He solves the matter by pushing roughly at the red power switch on Liam’s device himself. 

“You don’t think they’ll wonder about this?” Liam asks. “About what made you go off the record? And I don’t just mean the others. I’m talking about the producers, the fans-”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, you should. This is your job, Killian. Your livelihood.”

“Neither of which have anything to do with my personal feelings for Emma.”

“You’re a fool if you believe that. You started this, little brother, when you began flirting with her.”

“Harmless fun.”

“‘ _Harmless fun_ ,’” he scoffs. “It was harmless until you started caring about her. This is your own fault-”

“So what, then, Liam? You wish to capitalize on the moment at Emma’s expense? At _mine_? And for what? Viewership?”

The older Jones shrugs. “Never bothered you before. Whatever it took, right? That’s what you always said.”

“Don’t you dare throw my words back in my face. Not like this. This is different and you know it.”

“How so?”

“ _Because it is!_ ”

They reach a stalemate at Killian’s explosion. Liam looks at him for a long moment then frowns, huffing as he scrubs a hand across his face. “I don’t like her.”

“You don’t know her,” Killian snaps.

“Neither do you.”

“I know enough to know that you misunderstand her. Completely.” 

“Do I?”

“Emma’s a good person, Liam. She cares about her work, her team-”

“She’s rude and arrogant-” 

At that Killian arches a brow at Liam. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

That gives him pause but still, he waves Killian off. “She’s prickly, like that cactus the widow Lucas called her.”

“I like cacti!”

“Since when?”

“Since now! What does it matter to you anyway?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a grown man, Liam. Whatever my feelings are for Emma is none of your concern.” 

“And what exactly, _little brother_ , is it that you feel for Emma?”

She’s the bravest, most stubborn woman he’s ever met, and alright, perhaps he even _like_ likes her, but he would rather drink a glass full of nails than admit that to Liam. Luckily for him, he never gets the opportunity to reply, a sudden scream piercing the quiet of the manor and promptly halting their conversation. 

“ _Killian!_ ”

“Was that...?” Liam wonders.

He looks at Liam for a brief moment and then his head snaps towards the door. “Emma,” he says breathlessly, the realization hitting him. Then he takes off at a dead sprint, adrenaline coursing through his veins, fear gripping him as badly as it had her voice.

“ _Swan!_ ” he calls back, turning on the built-in light source on his camcorder so he can better see where they’re going. Not that he needs to, he could have found her in the dark from memory alone, so attuned had he been to where he and Liam had traversed earlier. 

The hallway feels longer than he remembers it being, and he knows it’s just a trick of the mind, but he swears the room on the opposite end appears to stretch further away from reach the closer he tries to run. “Emma! Hang on!” He all but slams into the door when he _finally_ reaches it, hand falling to the handle and giving it a heavy shove. To his absolute horror it doesn’t budge. “Swan! Can you hear me?”

“The door’s stuck!” she answers, voice muted by the thick wood, but even that does nothing to mask her very obvious panic.

He throws his shoulder into it, grunting at the pain that shoots down his arm. “I can see that,” he tells her. “Are you alright?”

“No,” she confesses and he barrels into the door again, desperate to get to her. If there’s one thing he knows about Emma it’s that she doesn’t scare easily. “Killian, open the door, please.”

“I’m trying, love,” he replies, frustration coloring his tone as he steps back and shakes out his limbs. He calls for every bit of strength he has in his body, intent on having another go. If it doesn’t work, he’s not above kicking the blasted thing in, even if the property damage will cost him and upset the network.

But before he can move, Liam tugs him back by the shirt. “Will you stop that, you’re going to dislocate your shoulder, or do something worse-”

“We have to get it open!”

“I know, but trying to break every one of your bones isn’t the way to go about it. It probably just locked accidentally. Stay here. I’ll go back to homebase and get some tools. And will you turn your bloody comms back on?”

He turns his attention to the door as Liam retreats, leaning his forehead against and pressing his hand into the space beside his head. “Swan, are you hurt?”

“No. What’s taking so long?”

“Liam’s gone to fetch some tools so we can open the door. Hold on for just a little longer, alright?” She’s quiet for a moment, and it makes his stomach drop. “Emma?”

“It’s freezing in here.”

“We’ll get you out, love. Don’t worry.”

Then he hears the faint click of some mechanism in the wood, feels it reverberate through his palm before the door moves, opening of its own accord. The second it swings in he promptly finds his arms full of Emma Swan. She clings to him, leaving not a scant bit of space between them, and he can’t help but pull her closer still into the safety of his arms.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs reassuringly, trying to chase away her demons, trying to ground her as she grounds him. “You’re alright, Swan. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“I was calling for you over the comms,” she says, voice muffled against his shoulder from where her face presses into it. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I’m sorry, we were offline.”

“What happened to ‘keep your comms on at all times?’”

He chuckles quietly, runs a soothing hand down her ponytail before tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair. “Liam and I were having a conversation.”

“So?”

“Off the record.”

“About what?” 

“You.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he agrees. She doesn’t press the matter, but he can sense that she wants to. “I’m sorry, Emma. We shouldn’t have done it.”

She shakes her head and takes another shaky breath as she pulls away to look at him. “It’s okay. Can we get out of here, though? I don’t want to be in here right now.”

“Yeah,” he replies, taking one of her hands to guide her out. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him that her fingers are bitingly cold. “Come on-”

Even as he says it, he feels the minuscule shift in the air, that sensation of knowing someone is behind him. Or in this case, _something_. There’s a firm pressure on his back, as if a wall were there, preventing him from moving further. He barely has time to fully register any of it when he feels a sudden push against him, one hard enough that sends him into Emma and them back into the room. 

It startles her as well, her gasp of surprise sounding around them. The motion is so quick, he can’t even be sure he simply didn’t just trip in his haste to get her out, but he’d _felt_ it. The unmistakable assault. Killian whirls around, curling a protective arm around her and standing squarely in front of her. The light from his camera dances wildly against every surface it touches -- floor, walls, ceiling -- until it finally steadies on the doorway. 

There’s nothing there. 

Nothing he can _see_ anyway, and he has just enough time to comprehend that, to understand the gravity of that, before the door slams shut with a resounding bang, right before their eyes, so forceful it makes the two of them jump.

“What... _the hell_!” Emma says from behind him, and as her fingers tighten on his arm and shoulder he wonders if her heart is beating as strongly against her ribcage as his is.

“Okay, you saw it too,” he replies, his words tumbling out on an airy _whoosh_ , as if he’d had his stomach punched.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” she answers.

He’s confused by that, still trying to process what had just occurred in plain sight, and it takes him a moment to realize that she’s not speaking to him, but to the comm in her ear. _Shit_. He’s still offline, and worse, his camera isn’t recording either. _Double shit_. He won’t hear the end of that from Liam. Or their producers for that matter. 

He switches his device back on and swivels to face Emma, watching her image come into focus on the viewfinder as she turns on the light on her own camera. From her tone and the way she attempts to calm the voice he can’t hear, he knows she’s talking to David. He reaches behind him, pressing the button on the battery pack that controls his mic to tune into their conversation. 

“What the hell is going on up there?” David asks.

“The usual.” She chuckles in an attempt to lighten the mood, but his eyes can see that she is still visibly shaken. “Creepy voices, bad feelings, mysteriously locked doors that shouldn’t have been locked-”

“Locked doors abruptly opening and closing,” he adds. “Inappropriate touching-”

“I mean, I wouldn’t really call it inappropriate-” Emma interjects. The longer the lights stay on, the more she begins to seem like her old self. There’s still a touch of fear lingering in her green eyes, but she’s much more calm than she had been just moments ago. 

“I was shoved, Swan, that’s inappropriate enough for me.” The smile he gives her is teasing and when he sees the corners of her lips twitch, he wonders what it would take to get a real smile out of her, one that reaches her eyes and crinkles the corners of them.

“Wait, what?” Liam demands, coming onto the line. “What the bloody hell happened, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Liam,” he assures. “ _We’re_ fine,” he amends, as an afterthought.

“Wait, you guys didn’t see?” Emma asks.

“You’re out of frame,” David sighs. “And your own cameras have been offline too. We can’t see anything.”

“The audio kicked out as well,” Merlin pipes up. “And apparently your comms. We’ve been blind for the last ten minutes.”

Emma’s eyes narrow and he watches her check her recorder. He doesn’t bother checking his as it’s been off since that conversation with Liam in the other room. 

“I’m not recording,” she tells him quietly, glancing up to stare at him. “But I never shut it off.”

He pulls air into his lungs, taking a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything to her. Emma’s been at the center of this investigation since they began, it makes the most sense that the strangest, most unexplainable things that happen are all tied to her. Her brow furrows, eyes narrowing with the action, and he can see that she’s trying to work something out. 

“What is it, love?” he asks.

She doesn’t reply, merely sidesteps around him and reaches out a hand towards the door handle. He has a distinct feeling that it won’t open, though. 

“It’s stuck again,” she confirms, giving it several hard yanks, and then she’s turning around to look at him with those big, wide eyes. She doesn’t have to say it for him to understand, he’s already come to the same conclusion. Whatever wanted her in here, now seems to want him as well. 

“Emma? Killian? Do you copy?” It’s Elsa this time.

“We copy, give us a minute,” he says into the comms, eyes unwavering from Emma’s face, half hidden by shadows and full of growing anxiety despite an equal desire for truth. “What are you thinking?”

“You know what I’m thinking. We may as well make the most of it since we’re trapped here,” she shrugs.

He swallows thickly, full of nerves that he tries to hide. “The team can get us out.”

“Can they?” she challenges. “Because it seems to me like it doesn’t just want me anymore. For some reason, you’re supposed to be in here too.”

“Alright. So what do you want to do?”

“I suppose what _it_ wants us to do, which is be here and try to work out what the hell is going on.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and all the while, Emma continues to look at him expectantly. He sighs, _heavily_ , and he wonders if this is how it’s to be from now on, him giving in to every whim of this infuriating, brave, beautiful woman, or if one of these days he’ll tire of following her lead. 

“For the record, I still don’t like this,” he tells her.

“Me either.” 

But he gets the smile he was hoping for, the one that crinkles her eyes at the corners, and to his delight, something more -- a soft, chiming laugh -- and he knows it’s unlikely. He’d follow her to the end of the world, or time itself if she asked. 

Perhaps, even if she didn’t. 

* * *

After a long, exhausting, and heated discussion with the team -- comprised mostly of David and Liam arguing over who should be the one to rescue Emma and Killian -- they finally come to an agreement: Emma will proceed with her investigation of the room. With Killian. 

Not that either of them really have a choice in the matter when circumstances have literally forced them together. There could be worse things, she supposes, and she finds that there’s some comfort in that, in not being alone and having someone to share the experience with, the burden of the encounter with. And with something like this, it is _always_ a burden. Exciting yes, but the price is often high. The most frightening, disturbing parts of paranormal investigation often come at the cost of one’s peace-of-mind and occasionally their physical well-being too.

Emma’s only half listening to Killian while he argues with his brother and finalizes some other things with homebase. She’s much more focused on checking all of her devices to make sure they are working properly and that anything with a charge is at a high enough capacity to withstand another hour of their investigation. Hopefully they can avoid any further malfunctions and actually capture some really good stuff. 

She triple checks the ‘record’ setting on her camera, clicking the button on and off to make sure both features work. It’s entirely possible that she accidentally hit it herself in her fright and desire to vacate the room earlier; fear has a way of making even the most steady person _unsteady_ , after all. But her gut is positive it wasn’t her doing, that the camera had stopped because of something else, something using its energy or that perhaps simply just wanted it off. 

Her fear has subsided for the most part, having been distracted by the job and the checklist of tasks running on loop in her brain, but the moment the camera lights go back out and she and Killian are shrouded in darkness once again, her anxiety rears its ugly head. 

“You alright?” he asks her after a while, the silence beginning to ring in her ears. 

His voice is a comfortable distance to her right, the tone full of the same quiet worry that had been present the first time they’d been in this room and her name had come through on the digital recorder. 

“Yeah,” she lies, even though she knows he can see right through it. “Do you want to do the temperature readings?”

He ignores the question, asking one of his own. “What happened earlier?”

She doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to think about the events leading up to that moment, that desperate moment when fear had gripped so tightly at her heart she was sure it was going to explode from the pressure, or that she was going to suffocate from it. She doesn’t want to tell him how she’d been near tears, how she’d all but clawed at the door to try to escape. 

Instead, her mind wanders to the seconds after, when the door had swung open and he’d been such a welcome sight she’d basically thrown herself at him. But he hadn’t objected, simply gathered her into his arms to hold her close. Keep her safe. 

To her dismay, her heart stumbles involuntarily at the memory, and it takes much more effort than she expects not reach out to him in the dark, to curl her hand around his arm and tug him back to her side where she can feel him and know that he is truly there -- solid and real, like a harbor for a ship meant to face stormy seas.

She sighs to herself. If she’s not careful, he’s going to turn her into something she hasn’t been for a very long time: a romantic.

“Emma?” he says, when she’s gone too long without a response. 

The audience will want an explanation, of course, so it’s only fair of him to ask, but she can’t help but wonder if this is more for him rather than for them. She tries to remind herself, again, that she shouldn’t be wondering too much about Killian.

“You were right earlier,” she replies.

“About what?”

“About how it was waiting. Remember how the room had felt so... _empty_?”

She can feel the air around her stir, knows instinctively that he’s moved towards her before she even hears the quiet shuffle of his boots, and she wonders if there’s something magnetic about their energies that keeps drawing them together. He doesn’t touch her, but she almost wishes he would. The light brush of his arm against her is a small comfort, though.

“Aye,” he replies.

“It didn’t stay that way for long. I don’t know how to explain it,” she murmurs, thinking that with all his way with words, he’d probably be better at recounting this than her, but she tries her best to articulate herself anyway. “It happened gradually, like the experiences were building in intensity, working off of each other. The temperature dropped a lot, but it took some time. I can’t remember the exact readings but it was all documented on my camera. It got so cold my teeth started chattering and I couldn’t stop shaking.”

She pauses out of reflex, resisting the memories that come next, refusing to relive them. 

“Go ahead, Emma. It’s alright,” he says gently, encouragingly.

When it finally comes out, it happens in a rush, her thoughts short and abrupt as she describes the events of the encounter. “It felt like I was being...watched. From every corner of the room. It was so stuffy, like that heavy feeling we got earlier. The hairs on my arms stood up and I got this tingle up my spine. Everywhere I turned it felt like I couldn’t get away from it. It was like being hunted, in a way. I don’t know, it didn’t feel right.”

“You didn’t feel safe.”

She shakes her head, knowing he can see her through the viewfinder. “Do you remember when you almost stepped on the broom earlier? And I’d grabbed you and then you brushed my hair off my shoulder? It felt like that, like someone had touched my hair. 

“I started to get...scared,” she admits. “So it’s hard to say how much of it was real or of my own making, but it just felt like I wasn’t...alone anymore.” She hates the way the words sound to her ears, but she keeps going. “I backed myself into a wall.”

“Three open sides is better than four,” he agrees, and she’s thankful that he understands her thought process.

“I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m stubborn.”

“Really? No, I never would have guessed.” 

She can hear the smile in his voice and it causes one to bloom on her face. “Anyway, I wasn’t going to let it scare me off, that was out of the question, so I pulled out my recorder and started asking questions. All the standard ones, ‘Is somebody here? What’s your name? Do you have anything to say?’ Nothing happened for twenty minutes and so I was going to put the recorder away and try something else.”

“What happened, Swan?” he prompts.

“There was a voice, crystal clear, right in my ear. Like a whisper-hiss.”

“What did it say?” 

She pauses to catch her breath, to steady herself. “‘ _Die._ ’”

He swears, colorfully, and she appreciates the sentiment.

“It scared the shit out of me,” she confesses. “It felt like I’d just been standing there forever, frozen in place. And then I heard these tapping sounds, three of them, right by my head. I’d had enough by that point, so I pushed away from the wall. I heard another voice then, this time it said, ‘ _Run_.’ So I did, straight for the door. I couldn’t get it open though, that’s when I started calling for you but-”

“The comms were offline,” he finishes for her. He swears again. “ _Fuck._ I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known-”

“No, I should have trusted my instincts. We shouldn’t have left you alone in here.”

“Killian, really, it’s fine-”

“Look, if you don’t want to do this, we can have the team come get us and we can walk out of that door right now.” 

His hand finds her arm, palm cupping her elbow. It’s a welcome bit of warmth in the chill of the room, but it’s also something like a plea, the way he grips her, and really, he needs to stop caring about her so much, the idiot, because if he keeps at it like this, he’s going to get under her skin and weasel his way into more forbidden territory. Like her heart. Her body betrays her, swaying towards him. 

“And what? Call off the investigation?”

“Yes! Or at the very least, eliminate you from it.”

She shakes her head firmly. “No, absolutely not. It’s bad enough we didn’t get _any_ of that recorded. We have to do this.”

“It’s not safe for you,” he sighs.

Her eyes trace over his face on her viewfinder, the way his brows pinch together, how the corners of his lips turn down with his frown. When they’d first met, she’d thought those brows had been the most expressive thing about him, but she realizes she’d been wrong. It’s his eyes, piercing and honest and full of compassion. 

Her hand twitches, fingers itchy with the desire to reach up and smooth over the worry lines on his forehead. “You told David I couldn’t be in safer hands,” she reminds him. “Did you mean that?”

“Yes, of course, I-”

“Okay. Then we stay.”

He’s silent for a long time, and then she feels him squeeze gently at her elbow. “Are you _sure_?”

She solves the matter by reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling her digital recorder out, and holding it up so his camera catches the very deliberate view of it. 

He sighs again, but releases her so he can take it from her hand. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. But she smiles encouragingly as she says it. “Probably.”


	3. Chapter 3

Killian weighs the device in his hand, wondering at how such a little thing can be both blessing and curse. It has provided a life for him, a career, enlightened and opened doorways to worlds beyond the physical. But it's also caused an immeasurable amount of trouble, and in all of his professional experience, never so much as this one night.

He doesn't turn it on right away, just stands there holding it while looking at Emma in the viewfinder. He could say no. He could just put it in his pocket and they could walk away from this, whatever the consequences. But he understands that look in her eyes, the determination there, the bravery, and damned if he doesn't respect it. Damned if he isn't drawn to it.

During their short time together, she's asked very little of him, one could even argue nothing at all. Except for this, and even though continuing this investigation is the last thing he wants to do right now, he's willing to put aside his personal feelings. For Emma. But in the same vein, that's entirely the problem. His feelings are too intimately tied _to_ Emma, and he worries that his good judgment is being severely influenced by the soft, imploring look she gives him.

It's a dangerous thing, that face.

He tips his head back, huffs out a breath, then gives her a resigned nod. She turns away from him, pointing her camera towards the door that has locked them in, and he glances up from his recorder's screen, looking into the vast expanse of darkness that blinds him and heightens his other senses. He stands there for a moment, listening, _feeling_ , but the only thing he hears is Emma speaking the temperature readings aloud for the camera, and the only thing he feels is...nothing.

He moves to wander the room and is just about to ask his first question when he hears a quiet hiss in his ear.

_Stupid bitch!_

He whirls around, attempting to locate its source and feeling his heart jump into his throat. It's not so much the words themselves that make him uneasy, but the vehemence behind them. He opens his mouth to ask Emma if she heard it too, but in the same shocking moment, her voice fills the empty space.

" _Killian, seriously?_ "

It comes somewhere from his left and he swivels on his heel so that he can see her through his camera, his brows furrowing in confusion. He's not sure what she's so upset about, he hasn't done anything the last few minutes except stand there holding the digital recorder and the only movement from him had come after the entity had spoken to him.

"Are you _really_ trying to cop a feel right now?" she chides.

His brows arch at that, shooting up towards his hairline as he feels several emotions at once. All things considered, he hardly thinks that jealousy is an appropriate emotion to have, but it's there nonetheless, and he's not quite sure how to cope with that, so instead, he focuses on the opposite side on the range of his feelings. The side where he needs to process that someone - _something_ \- has very blatantly _touched_ Emma.

_Bloody fucking hell._

"For the record," he replies, swallowing hard. "Before David attempts to take my life, I'd like to state that I've done no such thing."

Emma freezes, turning towards the sound of his voice, and he sees the exact moment that she realizes he was too far away to have laid a hand on her. She swallows visibly and there's a brief moment where something that looks horribly like fear flashes across her face. It was nothing more than the slightest shift in expressions, but it's enough to have him striding across the room to her.

"Killian," she starts.

"I know, come here." He draws her into him at the tremor in her voice, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Where?"

She lifts her hand wordlessly, resting it on his chest. Her fingers brush softly over his heart, and then she's turning her face to burrow into his neck, releasing a shaky breath.

"Okay, _that_ was definitely inappropriate touching," he growls, feeling his face heat with his temper.

"Guess we've got a real heart-stealer," she chuckles softly.

By her tone, he knows she means to lighten the mood with the joke, but it's hard to feel placated when something flashes into him. A memory from earlier. He swears under his breath and senses Emma lift her head to look at him.

"What is it?"

He can't be _sure_ , of course, it could have merely been a coincidence but he can't shake the sensation that it wasn't. The brush of something akin to a hand against her chest? Right where her heart is? No, it's too deliberate. The story had been that Cora had taken Daniel's heart, crushed it between her fingers until there was nothing left but dust, and it seems to him that Emma is intended to be her next victim. It sounds wildly absurd even just thinking it, but in his gut, he knows he's right.

Killian hasn't quite figured out the why of it all, but at this point, he doesn't even care. The only thing that matters to him is Emma and he just wants to get her out of the room as soon as possible.

"We're leaving," he tells her.

"What? Why? We've still got forty minutes left."

He doesn't know if he can last that long, doesn't know what he'll do if she's touched again. (If there's an attempt on her life again.) He might be being stupidly dramatic about the whole thing, but more than that, it's the complete helplessness that sets him on edge, leaving him unsure of how to fight something neither of them can see or fully understand.

His eyes flicker towards the stationary camera in the corner and he notes that the red light at the top is still lit, signaling that it continues to record.

"Base," he says into his comms. "Do you copy? I don't know if you can see or hear us, but we need an extraction. Now."

"An extraction? Killian-"

"Emma, it's Cora."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I don't know how I know, I just do, but you have to believe me. It's Cora. Whatever is going on, she's behind it, and I don't know why, but she wants _you_." He sighs and turns his attention back to the comms. " _Base!_ " he snaps. "Do you copy?"

There's no response for a long time and he wonders if some glitch - mechanical or spiritual - is affecting their ability to communicate with them. Their equipment must be offline, and he's just about to motion at the camera, hoping that they'll notice and realize the same thing, when David's voice comes through his ear.

"We copy. Hold tight, we're coming to get you-"

"You'll do no such thing." Granny speaks up. "Emma, can you hear me?"

"I'm here," she answers. "I can hear you."

She's begun to tremble against him, not terribly, but enough for him to notice and feel it reverberate through his body. He glances around even if he can't see anything in front of him. Has the temperature dropped? Is that why her teeth are chattering? Or is her body simply trying to process the tension it feels? Either way, he tightens his grip on her, absentmindedly running a soothing hand up and down her back.

"Do you remember what I told you the first time we met?" Granny asks her.

"You mean about unicorns? Yes…? But I hardly think this is the time to-"

"No." Granny's sigh is full of exasperation. "About you being a white witch in a past life."

"I...thought you were joking."

The way she says it makes the corners of Killian's mouth twitch and threaten to tug up into a smile.

"Do I look like the joking type?" Granny doesn't snap but it's a near thing. "This world might not have any magic anymore, at least none that you can see, but it still remains. It's in the little things, Emma. In the way caterpillars transform into butterflies, how the tides are controlled by the moon, in the cinnamon you love in your hot chocolate. Constant and flowing and in the very makeup of all things. It's even in your blood. You're blessed, Emma. Gifted."

"Granny...have you been drinking tequila before the investigation again? We talked about that-"

"No tequila but we did gave her a beer," Arthur pipes up.

"Not the time, mate," Merlin mutters.

Granny tsks, half offended and the rest annoyed. "I can hold my liquor, thank you."

" _Okay_ , but what does this have to do with anything?" This time it's Emma's turn to sigh.

"Have you been following along at all?" Granny huffs. She pauses for a moment, waiting for Emma to connect the dots and when she doesn't, she grumbles out, " _Cora_."

"Cora?" Emma says it like it's supposed to mean something to her but clearly doesn't. "What am I missing about Cora? Because Killian said the same thing and I honestly have no idea why you're all convinced it's her, and if it _is_ her, what does she want with me?"

"Come on, Emma, think. Do you really not remember what I told you?" Granny presses.

"That was years ago-"

"Well, think harder."

"Alright, alright. Give me a minute." She quiets for a minute, and Killian can all but hear the cogs in her brain turning while she her searches through her memories. "Something about me never needing to be saved because I'm a Savior. That I fight for the people I love...I am a hero. I am hope. I am light, and…"

"And?" Granny prompts. There's a smile in the old widow's voice, her tone immensely pleased.

"'Light cannot destroy darkness,'" Emma quotes. "'It can only create more light.'"

" _Of course_ ," Killian says, and it all finally clicks. Emma shift against him, tilting her head up and no doubt giving him an inquiring look. "Don't you see, Emma? It's you. If you are what Granny says you are-"

"She is," Granny insists.

"Then that makes you incredibly powerful and puts you at the very center of this. Cora wants to snuff out the light - _your_ light - because she sees you as a threat."

She shakes her head, perhaps unsure of how to process that. "What threat? I'm not doing anything except walking around and asking a couple questions and documenting the responses."

"Yes, but you have the power to defeat her, so to speak-"

"She does," Granny confirms.

"I know it sounds mad," Killian continues, ignoring Granny's interruptions. "But we're all a little mad here, I mean, look at the lot of us, chasing around ghosts in the darkest hours of the night for a living. Of the things we've seen and heard today alone, is what Granny says really that far-fetched?"

Emma's quiet for a moment, contemplating him, then she shrugs. "So, what then? She wants to scare me off until I leave?"

"Truthfully?" he replies, the word expelling on a heavy breath. "As much as it pains me to say it, I believe she means to take your heart the way that she did Daniel's. Or attempt to, at least."

He can practically hear her eye roll.

"Well, that's just fucking _great._ "

She says it so sarcastically, Killian can't help but laugh. He gives her a squeeze and rests his cheek against the top of her head for a brief moment. Damned if he isn't _crazy_ about her.

"So what am I supposed to do?" she asks Granny. "I don't want to fight her, I want nothing to do with her."

"You don't seem to have much of a choice, love," Arthur speaks up. "Because she appears to want to fight you."

"Arthur," Robin warns.

"What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true."

"This is crazy," Emma continues. "I'm not here to wage a war against some ancient evil bitch of a mom who happens to wield some very, very dark magic. I'm just trying to get through the next half-hour of this investigation-"

"You think that Forget-me-not you've got tattooed on your wrist is a coincidence?" Granny wonders, chiming in once more. "Some whimsical thing you just picked out randomly when you were sixteen?"

" _Sixteen!_ " David exclaims through the comms.

"David, now is not the time," Mary Margaret chides.

"It wasn't a coincidence, Emma, that you were drawn to that," Granny says, continuing to speak to her. "You chose a Forget-me-not so that you would remember."

"Remember _what_?"

"Who you were. What you _are_."

"A white witch?" Liam asks. He'd been quiet for most of the conversation and now Killian understands why. His voice is full of skepticism.

"Yes, and the Savior."

The noise that falls from his brother's mouth sounds suspiciously like a scoff, and Killian has to grit his teeth to keep from snapping at him. It's hardly the appropriate moment to pick a fight, but Liam can bet he'll be hearing an earful from Killian later. Thankfully, Emma ignores him.

"Granny, that still doesn't tell me how I can...defeat Cora or whatever. What am I supposed to do?"

"How should I know?" The old widow huffs. "My job is only the _why_ , but the _how_? That's up to you, and you'll stay there until you figure it out. Stop denying who you really are, otherwise you'll never beat Cora and this place will never find peace. Life is just a cycle, Emma. I'd told you that you'd been here before, and you have, in this very room, under similar circumstances. If anyone can figure this out, it's you."

"Ah, so Cora-dear is an old friend," Arthur chuckles.

"Or an old foe," Mary Margaret grumbles.

"Depends on how you want to look at it," Arthur insists, rather tactlessly, in Killian's opinion, and he doesn't even stop himself from reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He loves these dolts, he really does, but they continue to try his patience at every opportunity.

"Granny?" David's voice comes in quietly over the comms and something about his tone has Killian's ears perking up. "The exorcism that happened here...was it tied to Emma- erm, in her past life?"

He jolts at the question, mind beginning to race as he waits for Granny's reply.

"Well, give the boy a cookie," she chuckles. "Maybe you're not just a pretty face after all."

Under normal conditions, he'd likely appreciate Granny's snark and perhaps even chime in a bit on the teasing himself, but with the information she's just supplied, all he can focus on is Emma and the way she leans further into him.

"I'll spare you the details because believe me, you'd prefer it, but the short answer is yes," Granny continues. "You see, Storybrooke has had a very long history of serving as a battleground for the forces of good and evil. It's an age-old fight that has been taking place across lifetimes, and is clearly something still happening to this day."

"How does my brother figure into all of this?" Liam wonders, speaking up.

"Your brother has an uncanny ability to constantly find his way," Granny says. "He's exactly where he's meant to be."

Killian's head snaps up at the echo of what Granny had told him earlier, when she'd sought him out while he was clearing the room for Emma.

_Granny?_

_Yes, dear?_

_How do I keep her safe?_

_The world is such a funny place, don't you think? Somehow we always end up where we're meant to, over and over and over. You'll figure it out, Killian Jones. You always do. I don't know if you're aware, but you have quite a keen sense of direction, even in the toughest of waters._

"Do you always speak in riddles?" Liam snaps impatiently.

"No," she laughs. "Mostly just to annoy you."

"Do you still want the extraction?" Emma wonders. Softly, just to him.

He sighs as her voice drowns out the bickering happening in his ear between his brother and Granny. He takes a moment to contemplate her, weighing the decision. In the end he says, "Your call," because it is and because regardless of what he says, Emma already sounds like she's made up her mind about the whole thing anyway. He feels her shrug.

"Well, I've got no other plans tonight."

Killian smiles gently at that. "What a coincidence, because neither do I."

* * *

It's been quite some time since their conversation with Granny and no amount of prompting or baiting has enticed Regina's mother to come back out and play. When it's clear they're going to have to remain there for an uncertain amount of time, they decide to plop down in one of the corners, adjacent to each other.

Resigned to the rather boring turn of events, Emma opts to get comfortable, and Killian watches through his viewfinder as she draws her knees up to her chest before resting her arms on them. She leans her head back on the wall, eyeing him as he gets similarly settled in.

"I do so love this waiting game," Killian deadpans, the frustration evident in his tone as he stretches his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles.

"Maybe she's gone," Emma murmurs, more to herself than to him.

"No," Killian disagrees. "She's not."

She exhales in annoyance, and on his camera, he can see that she's leaned forward to lay her cheek against the top of her knees after setting down her equipment. The device continues to film despite being pointed at nothing in particular, and he wonders if they'll get lucky and find some evidence on the audio when they play it back later.

"What's she waiting for?"

"I don't know, love."

"So what do we do in the meantime? Just sit here until she decides to mess with us again? That sounds masochistic."

Killian shrugs, reaching out and absentmindedly grasping at the end of her shoelace that falls over the edge of her boot. He doesn't tug on it, just rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. "The widow Lucas appears to have it in her head that we can help."

"Yeah, I still haven't figured that out," she grumbles.

"Me either. But you're the Savior, Swan. If there's anyone who can, it's you."

She lifts her head to look at him, her eyes glowing that eerie white-green on the screen of his viewfinder, but it does nothing to mask the intensity of her gaze. "Do you really believe that?"

"I do," he nods.

"Not just that I can help," she amends. "But that I was some kind of Savior in a past life?"

"Why not? If there's anything I've gathered over the past few years, it's that oftentimes the thing we think is the least possible is actually the very thing that's true." He twists the shoelace around his finger, giving it a sharp yank so that it unravels. "Besides, Granny doesn't seem to be the kind to be wrong very often. Or at all."

She makes a noise of agreement, her eyes drifting down with the motion of his hand. "What are you doing?"

He smiles in amusement but doesn't reply, just shrugs at her again, and she treats him with another one of her eyerolls before reaching out to grasp the laces between her fingers so she can tie her shoe up once more.

"Weirdo."

But she laughs when she says it and his smile widens into a grin. He's pleased that he managed to get the intended reaction out of her.

"So tell me," she muses, after she's finished and taken the camera back into her hands to angle at him. "Who are you supposed to be in this fairytale, Killian Jones?"

"Certainly no Prince Charming, David seems to have that covered." He waits for the biting retort on the comms but none comes and he questions for a moment if they've possibly lost communication.

"You did call yourself a scoundrel. Maybe you're a pirate."

He can hear the mirth in her voice and it mirrors the smirk on his face. "And what would I be like in your version? Other than a villain? Handsome, I gather?"

"If waxed mustaches and perms are your thing."

His lips purse as he ponders over that, and his brow arches up quizzically at her. "I take it by your tone perms are bad."

She giggles softly, shoulders lifting. "I suppose only if you're Captain Hook."

"In Barrie's version, he was quite the charmer, I'll have you know."

"Mmhmm," she nods, resting her elbow on her knee so that she can prop her chin in her hand.

Her expression is alight with a playfulness he's not seen before, and it makes him feel like he's walking on wobbly legs despite being seated and mostly still. He clears his throat as if it will clear the thought most prominent in his head - that he likes this woman, terribly so - and scratches behind his ear as his cheeks begin to warm.

"He was!" Killian insists. "Blue-eyed, fearless, eloquent, a gentleman through and through, and a practitioner of good form. Not unlike myself, thank you very much."

" _Right_ ," Emma says, and god, does he love the sound of her laugh. "You're forgetting arrogant, pompous, temperamental with a flair for the dramatic-"

He flicks sharply at her leg then and snickers at her surprised little yelp before catching her hand when she tries to swat at him. They spend a few moments struggling, Emma attempting to tug herself free and Killian holding on as if his life depended on it. When their eyes meet in the faint glow of their camera screens and his heart trips in his chest, he thinks maybe it could.

Her movements slow the longer their gazes hold, until she stops completely, and perhaps it's because it's just the two of them alone in the dark, or because he's always been a bit of a romantic and Granny's notions about them being connected in a past life are at the forefront of his mind, but staring into her wide, green eyes, he can't help but feel as if something significant shifts between them.

Emma glances away abruptly and that alone is enough to shatter the moment. This time, when she pulls back, he lets her.

"A _scoundrel_ ," she maintains, but she says it like a compliment, her expression soft with a smile ghosting the corners of her mouth.

"Of the best sort," he agrees, watching her reach up to close her fingers around the charm dangling from the end of her necklace. "What's that you keep fiddling with?"

"Hmm?"

"The necklace." He nods at it. "You've been fiddling with it all night."

"Oh! It's a Saint Christopher's necklace. Granny gave it to me last Christmas. He's-"

"The patron saint of travelers," Killian snorts.

It must be the way he says it that has Emma's head canting at him. "What is it?"

"Granny," he says, as if that explains everything. For him it does, as he thinks of the conversation they'd had earlier, and the way she'd proclaimed him to be a traveler. With the jewelry around Emma's neck, it seems to be one more thing that links them together, one more thing that proves they are both where they're supposed to be.

But he has yet to figure out what that means, and what exactly his role is supposed to be in all of this. He'd gotten the compass rose tattoo with the hope that he would continue to be guided to where he was meant to in this life, but maybe it wasn't just about him _being_ guided like a traveler would. Maybe, he was meant to _help_ _guide_ as well.

His eyes lock with Emma's and he sits there watching, searching, hoping for some bit of divine inspiration to help make everything clear and show him the way, but nothing comes.

"Okay...well, what about her?"

He shakes his head dismissively and reaches up to scratch behind his ear. "I'm not quite sure yet, but I'll let you know once I've figured it out."

* * *

It doesn't surprise Emma that Granny's been talking to Killian, and more than that, _seeing_ things about him. Granny never has any control over that stuff, just when and how she reveals the information given to her. But Emma wasn't born yesterday, she knows the old woman has all the answers already; Granny, for whatever reason, actually _wants_ Emma and Killian to figure this out on their own instead.

Even more unnerving is the whole business of she and Killian being inextricably linked, not just in this lifetime, but seemingly in previous ones as well. She's not quite sure what to make of that yet. It's almost like a loose piece of thread that she wants so badly to tug on but knows she shouldn't because the whole garment will likely just unravel, and frankly, she's not sure she has the emotional capacity to deal with the consequences of that.

Especially not now, when this entire investigation is beginning to borderline ridiculous. She'd gotten up ten minutes ago to stretch her legs and check the door but found that it was still locked. So she and Killian are still trapped, Cora, a fucking nut job even in death, is still MIA, and now her legs feel like they're being stabbed over and over by a million pins and needles.

They are making absolutely no progress, wasting valuable time and resources, and-

"What was your favorite episode you've filmed," Killian asks, cutting into her rambling thoughts.

"What?" she snaps, and because her aggression isn't really meant for him, she makes it a point to unclench her jaw and quiet her tone. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Since you started your show," he continues, ignoring her tenseness. "What's been your favorite episode?"

Emma blinks at him, confused. "Why?"

"Because, I'm trying to distract you, and since I wouldn't put it past you to knee me in the unmentionables for trying to kiss you, this is the best I've got."

The corners of her mouth twitch, she can't help it, and not because of the kiss comment (which is a whole other thing she has to compartmentalize for now and unpack much, _much_ later), but because she hates that he can so easily turn her mood around. More than that, she hates how he always seems to know what to say to get her to smile.

"Well, you're not wrong," she grins.

He huffs dramatically, for the camera's sake, she's sure. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "You know, personally, I really loved that episode where David ate the bad Chinese for dinner."

" _#DoodyDavid_ ," Emma snickers, and she knows that if Cora doesn't get her at the end of this, David likely will for resurrecting that particular fan favorite moment. Then something suddenly dawns on Emma and she cants her head at Killian curiously. "I didn't realize you watched the show."

" _Of course_ I watch the show."

He says it so matter-of-factly that it actually makes him pause, jolting as if he's just confessed some deep, dark secret. He clears his throat and reaches up to scratch behind his ear, something that she's come to note as a nervous tick of his.

"What you've done, what your whole team has done for the field has been incredible. I've followed you for years, even before we got our own show."

She can tell that he hates how shy and embarrassed his voice sounds, but Emma finds the whole thing incredibly sweet. "Wow. That's...thanks."

"You're welcome," he replies. After a moment, he tips his head back to rest against the wall. "What's it like?"

"Hmm?" She shuffles nervously from foot to foot under the quiet intensity of his gaze.

"To be on a show where people respect you?"

Emma cringes at that, brow furrowing with her guilt and embarrassment. "Killian, about what I said earlier-"

"It's alright, love. I'm not offended. I'm very aware of what people say about us, and how we came by our reputation. I helped build it, after all." His chuckle is soft and pleasant enough, but she still catches a hint of bitterness in his voice. "In truth, if I could have my way, we'd be much more serious on the show."

"If that's what you want to do, then why don't you?" She's hesitant at first, but eventually she works up the nerve to go sit beside him again.

"You know how it goes, Swan. The network only cares about the viewers and the viewers love our antics. They've been reluctant to allow the changes I've wanted to implement so I've had to compromise. Besides, it's not just my show, it's theirs as well," he says, speaking about the rest of his team. "We're in this together, the lot of us, and just as I do, they all have their lives and stories, families to support, fans of their own. I could never jeopardize that just for a chance at garnering a bit more respect to stroke my ego. We still get to do what we love - travel, explore, research, gather evidence. It's still fulfilling in a lot of ways, even if our presentation may not be my ideal."

Emma stares at him for a long while, beginning to see him in a different light, and realizes that she was completely wrong about him. Hearing him talk about his family and friends that way, the passion for this field, she might even say that she goes a little soft for him in that moment.

"Careful, Swan, you could make a man think you actually like him if you keep staring that way."

"I don't know about ' _like_ ,'" she shrugs, tearing her gaze away and reaching out to flick his knee like he'd done to her leg earlier. She's thankful the darkness covers the heat burning in her cheeks and the tips of her ears that is no doubt making her red as a tomato. "Maybe 'respect' and 'understand better' are more fitting words."

"I'll take them," he replies, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

"Killian?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'm really glad I was wrong about you."

He chuckles softly at that. "Me too."

"Should we try the Spirit Box?" she wonders after several long moments of companionable silence.

With nothing happening, it makes the most sense to continue to try different mediums to draw Cora out. Perhaps she finally will and Emma can _finally_ kick her ass out of this lifetime.

There's a small bag on the floor by the stationary camera, and inside of it is a myriad of tools for collecting evidence. Amongst them is the device she had suggested they use, the Spirit Box. Rectangular in shape, this one is a little bigger than their digital recorders. It's a white noise generator that rapidly sweeps through multiple AM radio frequencies at once, and the idea is that the spirits can manipulate the energy from the different frequencies to generate responses to the questions they have.

After Killian's retrieved it, they settle in again, sitting down shoulder-to-shoulder with their backs to the wall. When Emma turns it on, it makes a pulsating hissing sound. Several minutes and multiple prompts later, it finally delivers.

' _Daniel_ ' comes through crystal clear, even if the voice sounds more robotic than human.

"Regina's Daniel?" Emma wonders aloud.

Or perhaps Cora pretending to be, but Killian doesn't say that out loud. "Hey mate, do you have something you want to tell us?" he asks the Spirit Box.

_Tss-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss-RUN-tss-tss-tss-tss._

That is also crystal clear on the speakers and Killian doesn't have to be told twice. He's had enough of this to last him a lifetime. He means to shift, to drag Emma up and towards the door so they can get the hell out of there, but as he starts to rise to his feet, the Spirit Box abruptly goes dead. Not with a lack of response, but completely dead.

The switch from white noise to deafening silence is so abrupt, he feels the shock from the top of his spine all the way to his feet. Their handheld cameras cut out as well, the video monitors going completely black and eliminating those sources of light from the room in the exact same moment.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters under his breath, dropping his camera to blindly reach for Emma and pull her to her feet.

"Killian?" Emma says, when she's steady.

"Aye?"

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"Take what the wrong way?"

In lieu of an answer, he feels her press into him, feels the slight tremors wracking her body. He raises his arm to wrap around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. "If you wanted to get close to me, you just had to ask. There's no need to use Cora as an excuse."

" _Haha_ ," she mutters dryly. "Very funny-"

Whatever else she was going to say is promptly interrupted by a rumbling that rattles the walls and reverberates through their very bones. Lights begin flashing like strobes from their dead equipment, and impossibly, swirling wind starts to whip around them. It's so strong that Emma screams when it knocks the stationary camera into the wall, tripod and all.

Cora's here, finally, and she's putting on a hell of a show.

Killian holds onto her tightly, one hand protectively covering her head. He calls for base, but everything else sounds so loud and deafening in her ears, she can barely hear him.

"The comms are dead!"

"What?" she yells back.

"The comms!" he shouts, mouth so close that his booming voice makes her ears ring painfully. "They're dead!"

She flinches as one of their recorders goes flying by them and slams into the wall by her head, shattering into pieces before falling to the floor.

"This is insane!" she yells at Killian, trying to angle towards the door. "We have to get out of here!"

But Killian shakes his head and holds his ground. "What about what Granny said?"

"Who cares what Granny said, she-" and the rest of her thought is cut off with a loud gasp, when she is physically torn apart from Killian.

Her hands search frantically for him but all she comes up with is air. He screams for her, she thinks, but she can't be sure because there's too much happening all at once. The wind kicks up, making her hair dance wildly around her face, and the noise cancels everything else so that it's too difficult to hear above it. The lights from their equipment persist in their flashing; it's impossible to see anything for longer than pulsating snatches, and trying to focus is starting to make her head pound.

Her back promptly connects with a wall, forceful enough that it actually knocks the breath from her lungs and makes her wheeze. _Jesus_.

" _Emma!_ " Killian cries.

"I'm alright!" she calls back, even if it's the furthest thing from the truth.

In the flickers of illumination Emma thinks she sees something move in front of her, across her face, a mist-like _thing_ and then suddenly, there's a pressure against her throat. So strong that she chokes on her breath. She tries to move away from the wall, but can't. All she can do is stand there, pinned to it and struggling to get free.

The fear begins to creep along her skin when she realizes she can't _breathe_ , and defensively, she reaches up to pull the constricting hand off. Except there isn't any hand, not a physical one anyway, and so she does the only thing she can in that moment: she panics.

Emma claws uselessly at her neck, trying desperately to pull air into her lungs but being unable to. White spots cloud her vision and then Killian's face is there, looking absolutely terrified as he touches her face, her neck where her hands are still trying to pull the invisible force away, her shoulder, her arm.

"Swan! No! Please!"

Tears well in her eyes until they spill over onto her cheeks and she hates this, hates that he has to be here to see this, to watch her die by something neither of them can see or fight. And then he's there, cupping her face, pressing his forehead against hers, pleading with her.

"Emma, listen to me, love, you have to fight! Whatever is inside you, Cora can't touch it and she certainly can't defeat it, not if you don't let her. You are too full of good, too full of light, do you hear me? Come on, Swan, _fight_!"

 _Fight_ , she tells herself, and she tries to, her body trembling profusely from the effort, but nothing happens except that her lungs now feel like they're going to explode. Emma can start to feel her eyes slipping, start to feel _herself_ slipping. Out of nowhere, a little glowing ball of blue light drifts down into her periphery and somehow she manages a tiny gasp. She can't move, but her eyes can, and she watches it as it hovers close by.

Killian pulls away to look at her. "Emma, fight!"

The orb zings away only to come back and dance wildly above Killian's head, flitting to and fro until it whizzes by her ear.

_Fight!_

And she doesn't know how, but the voice she hears isn't the one in her head, the voice she hears sounds suspiciously like one she'd heard earlier, on the Spirit Box. The voice, sounds like _Daniel_.

As soon as she processes that realization, there's a movement behind Killian, a dark shadow that looks frighteningly like the shape of a hand. She knows its intent before it even begins to advance, and she has never understood fear the way she does right then, knowing that Killian is in complete danger and there's nothing she can do to warn him or to stop it. She digs deep within herself, frenzied for the strength to get him out of the way.

She's shaking badly from the lack of oxygen, the exertion of trying to escape, and everything inside of her that's screaming to protect. Cora's been fucking with them all day, trying to intimidate and frighten them, trying to isolate them. She might have succeeded in the second, but damned if Emma was going to let her accomplish the first.

She closes her eyes, tries to calm herself as she searches within for that piece of herself that's been missing all this time. She's a Savior, she reminds herself, a hero.

 _I am hope. I am light_. _Light cannot destroy darkness. It can only create more light._

And as she says that last part, something happens, something inside of her flips on like a switch, and she feels a warmth blossom in her chest, rich and healing and strong. She reaches up, shoving Killian off of her just as the shadow-hand moves. He stumbles away, but when he whirls, he gasps, and he must see it too because he screams.

" _Emma, no!_ "

The pressure eases in her throat, but only because the hand flying at her goes straight into her torso and the gasp she makes to pull air into her lungs very quickly becomes a gasp of shock. She thinks for a moment that she has to be dreaming, that she's concocted some elaborate nightmare in her mind because she's been working too many hours and doing too many investigations, but then there's a sharp tug in her chest and her heart clenches so tightly she shrieks.

 _No!_ she yells in her head, and then that warmth becomes a light so blinding she has to close her eyes. It pulsates outwards in a heady rush that leaves her dizzy and weak, and as it happens, Emma swears she hears an angry, resounding screech.

The wind abruptly stills and her body is released from the wall. She slumps forward, promptly dropping to the ground on all fours. Coughs wrack her frame, her lungs frantically trying to draw in air, and unsurprisingly, she finds herself cradled in Killian's arms in the next instant.

"Swan, bloody hell, are you alright?"

"What...the fuck," she rasps.

"You did it, Emma, you defeated Cora."

"Damn straight," she manages to get out.

His quiet chuckle is full of relief, and perhaps, something more.

"Killian?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go now?" she wonders.

"Aye," he says. "In a minute." Then he simply rests his cheek against the crown of her head to hold her for just a little longer.

She doesn't mind one bit.

* * *

"That seat taken?" She says it as she wanders up to Killian from the house, smile exhausted but genuine.

He's perched atop a large rock at the edge of the property, watching as the teams begin their clean-up process. He looks like hell, if she's going to be honest, with his hair mussed and expression weary. But even so, there's still an air of serenity about him despite everything they've been through. Or maybe it's just an illusion, what with the way his hands are tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket and his legs are crossed at the ankles.

"Reserved, especially for you," he replies, smiling back.

Emma finds a little place for herself beside him, and to ward off the chill, she hides away her hands in her own jacket pockets. It feels so strange to be sitting in the quiet of the dawn, looking at the sky as it begins to lighten from an inky starlit black to a rich sapphire blue, when just hours before she'd been fighting for her life against an evil bitch of a ghost.

She inhales a deep breath of crisp air and finds that while her lungs no longer burn, they still ache something fierce. "It's been quite an adventure, huh?"

Killian makes a noise at that, a soft little chuckle that draws Emma's gaze towards him. Upclose, she can see that he's got dark circles under his eyes, and her thumbs itch with the desire to reach up and soothe them away. Inside her pockets, she curls her hands into fists.

"If that was an adventure, I'd hate to see what you think a catastrophe is," he responds.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," she tells him, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He gives her a bland stare but then rolls his eyes playfully, unable to resist her. "So what did you tell them?"

She shrugs. "The truth."

"Did they believe you?"

"I don't know that I believe it fully myself."

"It's…" Killian exhales heavily. "Certainly a lot to process."

"Did you…" she starts, and then turns slightly so that she can face him. "I mean, did you see-"

"Yeah," he nods slowly. "I did." His eyes are on hers again, holding, forever that stormy blue. "Thank you."

She swallows back the lump in her throat at the tone in his voice. "For what?"

"For saving my life."

Despite all her efforts, it still flashes into her mind, the memory of the shadow-hand and how she'd managed to shove Killian out of harm's way at the last second. She attempts to hide her shudder with the shake of her head.

"Don't worry about it," she tells him, and because she can't handle that soft, reverent look on his face, she quickly directs the discussion into safer territory. "It was Daniel, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"It was Daniel," she repeats. "Telling me to run, letting you into the room, warning us about Cora. He even told me to fight just before Cora...you know."

"Huh," Killian says, pensively. "He was trying to help."

"Makes you wonder how many he's tried to help since Cora took his heart."

"Well, luckily for him, now he no longer needs to do that." This time he bumps her shoulder with his. "No thanks to you."

"And you." He ducks his head at that, shy almost. "I'm being serious, Killian. I couldn't have done this without you."

"No, love, you did all the work-"

"But you believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."

"Well, I'm happy to have helped in some small way."

The corners of her mouth tip up and then she turns back to the view. She has the fleeting thought that they should go help everyone load up the vans, but after the night they've had, she's certain the crew will understand their absences.

"Do you think the network will believe us?" Killian asks after a moment.

"Considering we don't have any evidence? Doubtful. But we do have enough for the special, at least. I'm sure they'll be able to work their Hollywood magic and still make it a good one."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

Emma's not sure why she does it, maybe because she's simply tired after nearly being murdered by a malicious spirit, maybe she's feeling too vulnerable to keep her guard up, or maybe it's just because she wants to, but she tips her head to rest against his shoulder and they watch in companionable silence as the teams continue their hustle and bustle to clean up.

A little while later, when it's time to go, Killian rises to his feet and holds his hand out to help her up. She eyes it carefully but still takes it, and tries to tell herself it doesn't mean anything.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he says, letting her go so he can reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out the flask he'd been drinking from earlier before this whole fiasco started.

Emma arches a brow at him when he opens it, watching him take a swig before tipping it in her direction. "Is that your solution to everything?" she asks.

"Under the circumstances? It certainly doesn't hurt to celebrate a little."

She takes the flask from him reluctantly, drinks, and almost chokes when she does. "What is _that_?" she asks.

He smiles sheepishly. "It's goat's milk."

She can't help but grin back because of all the ridiculous things she's seen and heard and experienced that night, this one falls on the high end. "I never really pegged you for a goat's milk kind of guy."

"You'd be surprised at the benefits." Then he's swaying into her space flirtatiously, leading with his hips as one of his hands closes over his belt buckle. "Exactly what kind of guy did you peg me for, Swan?"

She cants her head at him, as much in contemplation as to meet his eyes when the tips of his boots bump softly against the tips of hers. Her poor, aching lungs feel a little tight all of a sudden and she can't for the life of her remember if he's always been so tall.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "The rum drinking kind, maybe?"

His dimples flash and he shrugs back at her, the gesture both casual yet deliberate. "Once upon a time ago, maybe I was."

There's a story there, she can tell by the look in his eyes, one he's keeping close but one she finds that she would very much like to hear someday.

"Can I ask you a question?" he wonders.

"That was a question," she says, and Jesus is that really her voice? All low and throaty?

"So just how did you unlock the secret to defeating Cora?" Killian continues.

Emma shrugs. "I did what Granny asked."

Killian looks at her intently. There's some kind of thrill that rushes along her spine when she thinks he might close the last few inches of space between them and do something typically, foolishly like him... _kiss her_.

Instead, he poses another query for her. "And did you figure out who you were in this fairytale, Swan?"

She deflects the question, handing him back his flask with a coy little smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He glances down, watching his hand close around the flask, fingers brushing against hers, but he makes no move to take it back or pull away from her, even when her own hand slides away. He looks up, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze.

"Perhaps I would."

She smiles again, just the tiniest curving of lips, and before she walks away, she thinks she's going to do something crazy, like... _stay_.

But Emma turns to head back towards the vans, and when she does, the mansion fills her view once more. It still looms over them, against a backdrop of fading stars and an indigo-pink sunrise. It doesn't look so scary and foreboding anymore and it doesn't feel like its emanating any heaviness either. It just looks and feels like a house, and as she begins the trek across the grass, she thinks maybe it can be now.

* * *

The after-show special filming day in many ways is worse than the actual day they had in the field. At least to Killian, anyway. But he's always hated formal "work" settings like this. Even if he's got a few of these post-episode segments under his belt now, he'll tell people every single time that he's far more comfortable in a spooky place than underneath studio lights with a pound of makeup caked onto his face.

He's in the room by himself, sitting in a director's chair against an eerie backdrop of stone and hundreds of candles illuminating him from behind. It certainly sets the mood, he'll give them that.

The interviewer, Merida, is a young woman with fiery red hair and a thick Scottish accent whom Killian's worked with previously. She's a massive adventurer, a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and also hosts one of the travel shows on the network. He's always liked speaking with her, thankfully, so it makes the filming process easier to bear.

She asks the standard questions about their day in Storybrooke at the Lakeside Manor.

_What were your first impressions of the mansion?_

_Did you think it was haunted?_

_Did you have any experiences?_

He answers truthfully, mostly, leaving out the bits they didn't have evidence for and playing up only what the network could use in the final cut of the episode. They'd had to shift the focus from Emma and use the angle of 'haunted house,' which was what they originally intended before the investigation became more personal anyway, so it worked out in the end.

They were still able to utilize the walk-through footage as well as the money shot of Sister Gorham having some of her hair lifted, and the rest of the teams did manage to capture some other interesting things on their own too. But he knows the producers were more than a little disappointed that nothing from the evening incidents in the Exorcism room were documented and able to be worked in.

As far as stories go, that would have been a far more interesting selling point for the episode. Instead, the events of that night, in that room, remain a shared experience between just he and Emma, the kind of tale where the people who hear it would always wonder and question its validity.

"What was it like working with Emma Swan?" Merida asks next, cutting into his thoughts.

He almost leads with the fact that he hasn't seen her in weeks, much to his endless disappointment. Because neither of them were given Producer rights, once all of the evidence and footage were submitted in post-production, that was it. They wouldn't see anything again until the screener of the final cut was sent to them, and as such, there really wasn't a reason for them to meet or get in touch.

Alternatively, he talks about what an honor it was and how much he was able to learn from such a prominent figure in their industry. He must ramble on and on, singing her praises, because Merida is giving him a look that clearly says that while she appreciates his enthusiasm about his colleague, it's time to wrap it up.

"Were you scared?" she wonders, when he's done.

He makes sure to turn up the charm, sliding into the persona that he knows drives the fans crazy, and smirks with a mischievous arch to his brow. "It's my job not to be scared."

Merida doesn't miss a beat, her grin full of mirth. "Emma said you were scared."

 _Oh, that little snitch._ Luckily, he's very quick on his feet. "Perhaps she was thinking of the other Jones. There _are_ two of us."

Merida hums like she wants to tease him a little more, but she marks the question off on her list. "Tell me about what happened in the Exorcism room. A couple little birdies told me that Emma was touched inappropriately?"

He takes a steadying breath, remembering how fitfully he's slept since that night, his dreams a neverending nightmare of Emma with a shadow-hand through her chest and the outcome being vastly different.

"Unfortunately, we had a lot of equipment malfunctions in that room so we were unable to provide evidence for the encounters we experienced there. I don't know if you'll be able to use the account, but I can tell you that the spirits were rather fond of Emma. At one point we were clear across the room from one another, and she began yelling at me for grabbing her, which wasn't possible."

He reaches up, thumb and forefinger stroking at the scruff on his chin as he elaborates further, stretching the truth just enough to satisfy her curiosity without revealing too much.

"Would you work with her again?" Merida questions.

The corner of his mouth tugs up and he wishes all of the questions were this easy. "I would be delighted to work alongside her again. We make quite the team."

"Good, because she said the same thing. In fact, she suggested doing a Christmas special together."

He perks up instantly, unable to control the smile that blooms on his face. "Did she really say that?"

Merida gives him a very amused, very knowing look, but she doesn't answer his query. "Thanks, Killian, that was great! I think we've got everything. If you could send Granny in next, I'd appreciate it."

He stands up from the chair, his mind already far and away off in Emma-land. But despite being distracted by what she said about a possible holiday episode, he still manages to offer his hand for a parting shake before going in search of the old widow Lucas.

* * *

Granny opens the door to her dressing room just as Killian lifts his hand to knock. She startles him with the abruptness of her greeting, but more so with the glamorous transformation the hair and make-up team have done for her. He never would have considered her the red lipstick and mascara type, and yet, here she was.

"Granny, you look amazing."

"You say that to all the girls," she replies, rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps, but I only mean it with the women," he grins.

He makes her lips twitch and he gives her an extra brow waggle to see if he can entice out that smile, but Granny appears to have sensibilities of steel.

"Ask your question, boy." She fluffs her hair as she says it and smoothes out the wrinkles on her shirt. "Time is money and you know those big executives don't like to be kept waiting."

"How did you know-"

"I saw you coming," she shrugs.

He pauses at that, marveling that someone could have such a fascinating gift.

"Well?" she prompts impatiently.

Since she brought it up, he figures that he may as well go all-in. "What else have you seen?"

Granny leans against the threshold of the doorway with her hip and crosses her arms. "What else do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Storybrooke," he says simply.

"I could tell you many things about Storybrooke," she chuckles. "You'll have to be more specific, dear."

"Alright, tell me about Emma and I being in Storybrooke before."

Granny hums contemplatively, her eyes alight with a million glittering secrets. "I don't know if you're ready for that story just yet, Killian Jones."

He raises his shoulders up, the very picture of nonchalance, when inside he's actually vibrating intensely with the desire to know. "Try me."

"Okay." And the way she says it can't be seen as anything other than a challenge being accepted. "Well, once upon a time…there was a lost princess from another realm who was sent through a magical portal into a place called 'The Land Without Magic.' It's the world as you know it today. Now, she was just an infant at the time, but Mary Margaret and David didn't have a choice, really, because Regina, who was their arch-nemesis, was a right bitch plus an Evil Queen to boot, and they needed to protect Emma from her. You already know some of this, but Emma was destined to become the Savior and bring back all of the Happy Endings that Regina tried to take-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that David and Mary Margaret were Emma's _parents_ in a past life?" He blinks owlishly at Granny's blank stare. Of all the things he was expecting to hear, that most certainly wasn't it. His head spins as he tries to catch up and process what she's revealed.

Granny merely huffs at his skepticism and rolls her eyes at him again as she tries to move by him. Killian grabs her arm before she can get too far and holds her in place. "No, wait, please! Tell me more."

She looks reluctant to share anything further, but she stares at him for a long while, her eyes searching his face, and then her expression softens. She sighs deeply as she reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand.

"She had a great love, a _true love_. He was a kind man, a little rough around the edges and broody at times, but oh, did he have a big heart, and eyes as blue and vast as the ocean. Cheeky little bastard too," she laughs gently, and as an afterthought, "He also had a hook for a hand-"

"Okay, now I know you're making that up," Killian grumbles, disliking very much that his tone sounds like a petulant child.

Granny snickers, and gives his cheek an affectionate little pinch. "I told you that you weren't ready. In fact, you may not ever be, but word of advice? If you want to make it work, you keep doing what you're doing, kiddo. You show up for her everyday, you care about her like you already do, you let that love you have in your heart unfurl and trust that when she's ready, hers will too." She leans back, drawing her hand away. "I'm not worried about either of you, you'll be just fine. Besides, it's okay to write your own story this lifetime. You'll have many more to write others as well, I imagine."

And with that, she departs, leaving a sassy little wink for him in her wake. "Oh, and if you're looking for her, she's at catering. Keep her away from the carrots, though, they're touching the peppers and she's allergic!"

At the last second before she rounds a corner a little ways down the hall, she turns back to him. "By the way, it's nice to see that you sussed out your role in all of this."

"How do you figure that?"

"Emma succeeded, didn't she? As a traveler you can be both guided as well as guide. When Emma needed you most, you were there, not because she was the Savior, but because she was Emma and you believed in her. It was what she needed, and what she'll need again." She grins at the expression on his face. "Goodbye Killian Jones, though I'm certain our paths will cross often."

Killian watches her leave, smile amused as he shakes his head at her retreating form.

* * *

He has reconciled with the fact that it is highly unlikely seeing Emma Swan will never not knock him on his arse. She's a sight for sore eyes, beautiful as ever, and appearing far more rested than he feels while leaning over a table of sandwiches. She contemplates a grilled cheese, laughing at something the server behind the display has said.

Perhaps if he hadn't been paying such close attention to her, he might have missed the subtle movement of her hand, sneaking an onion ring off a tray from beneath the man's nose. His brow arches as he continues to watch, noting that she's got incredibly quick fingers, and his interest is officially piqued. There's a story there and he finds himself wanting to know it, just as he wishes to know about all of the fascinating things that make Emma who she is.

When she turns away, popping the onion ring into her mouth with a sly little smirk, their eyes meet across the space and she freezes in surprise. They stand there staring at each other, and though he can't speak for her, he feels the weight of their connection spark to life again.

It rushes back to him, all the things he likes about her and finds so interesting and attractive - her bravery, her stubbornness, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs, how she feels in his arms.

She closes the space between them and then some, taking him by the arm and finding a relatively private corner half-hidden by catering tents for them to speak in.

"Hi," she greets, and it's almost shy the way she glances up at him from beneath her lashes.

"Hello," he says back.

"How've you been?"

"Well," he starts. "Could use a bit more sleep, but I suppose that's to be expected what with having the woman you fancy almost killed by the spirit of an evil enchantress."

"Fancy?" Her forehead wrinkles at that, the corners of her lips tugging up gently with the word.

Killian shrugs casually, but his smile is playful. "Well, when you're not yelling at me."

She lowers her head at that, cheeks warm and rosy in a way that makes him want to lean over and press his lips against one.

"Most of the time you deserve it." She tries to hide her own smile as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, then clears her throat in her nervousness. "Killian, I-"

But whatever she had been going to say next is promptly interrupted by Liam strolling by and clapping him on the back.

"There you are, have lunch with me?" he asks.

Killian gives him an exasperated look. "I'm busy."

Liam glances in Emma's direction then, feigning a look of surprise. "Oh, hello Ms. Swan, didn't see you there."

"Of course not," she says, unfazed. The stare she gives him is lethal. "How could you, when your head is so big?"

Liam glares first at her and then at him, but Killian merely shrugs. "She's not wrong," he tells him.

"Pick your tongue up off the floor, _little brother_ ," he grumbles, promptly stalking off. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Killian resists the retort poised on his tongue but he just barely restrains himself from flipping off the elder Jones. Liam, bless him, is going to have to figure out how to deal with his personal feelings regarding Emma, because Killian very much plans on having her in their lives - in _his life_ \- for a long, long while.

"I see your brother still doesn't like me," Emma comments. She doesn't sound bothered by it, but he knows better.

"Sorry about him, love. You'll have to forgive his manners, he was dropped on his head as an infant. But I know he'll come around eventually." He hesitates, unsure if he should say the next bit, and he weighs brotherly code against the woman he likes having a smoother relationship with his sibling. In the end, the latter trumps the former. "Perhaps if you put in a good word about him to Elsa..."

Her eyes light up and she grins as wickedly as the Grinch ready to steal away Christmas, and oh, he's definitely head over feet for her.

" _I knew it!_ " she exclaims, and she gives him a light punch against his chest that causes him to chuckle at her antics. "Although, I don't know if I'd want to put my friend through that."

"Fair point," Killian agrees, and the next time their eyes meet in that quiet way they so often do, he hopes he isn't wearing too much of his heart on his sleeve.

"So how did your segment go?" she wonders, and he's happy to have the conversation turned to calmer waters.

"You know, standard, run of the mill interview. Nothing out of the ordinary...apart from having my good name positively _slandered_." He says the last bit absolutely betrayed and shakes his head when Emma blinks at him innocently.

"Oh?"

"Aye, you little snitch." But his voice is so full of affection that it makes her laugh.

"Hey, I didn't tell them anything that wasn't true," she replies, holding her hands up, and then her expression grows serious all of a sudden. "Hey, so I've been meaning to ask, where did that broom come from?"

"Hmm?"

"The broom. The one you almost tripped over. It wasn't there during the first walk-through with Sister Gorham."

"Oh...well…it's just…" He pauses, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, and he hates that he sounds so timid.

"What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"I came earlier to clear the room," he confesses.

"The birds," she replies, and it all clicks for her. "You did that for me?"

That incredulous tone in her voice combined with the sweet expression that crosses her face makes his heart trip in his chest. "Aye. It was bad enough that you would have to be there on your own. I just...wanted you to be comfortable, I suppose."

Emma reaches out to grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze, and she surprises them both when she pushes up onto her toes to place a soft kiss against his cheek. "Thank you. That was really thoughtful."

Their eyes hold, and when she starts to pull away, he follows after her, taking a step forward so the distance between them remains the same. He doesn't know how he could be so bold, not when his legs feel so much like Jell-O, but he's always believed that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. So when he sees his opportunity, he takes it.

"Was that all your comfort was worth to you?"

His eyes flicker to her lips and he knows she understands his intent. It makes the corners of her mouth tug up, even as she shakes her head at him. "Please, you couldn't handle it."

"Perhaps _you're_ the one who couldn't handle it."

There's a moment, a breath, where neither of them move, and then she's grabbing the lapels of his coat and dragging him roughly against her. He goes where she leads, as is his fate, and unsurprisingly, he feels his whole world shift perfectly back on end as their lips meet searingly and she proceeds to kiss the everloving shit out of him.

He meets her head-on, or tries to, and it might be cliche, but he truly believes that nothing could have prepared him for this, this heat, this electricity that pumps through his veins and threatens to consume him. And if this is how he's to go, it certainly would be an honorable death.

Emma is relentless, making his head spin as she finally releases all that pent-up attraction to him. Killian is no better, gripping her for purchase, desperately needing an anchor as he places one hand against her hip and tangles the other in her hair where her tie keeps her ponytail in place.

They break apart only when the need for air becomes too great, but Emma remains close, brushing her nose against his as their foreheads rest together and her breath fans out hotly over his lips.

"I've wanted to do that since that night," he admits.

"Chase away my demons?" One of her hands shifts upwards, sliding from his chest and along his jaw before she strokes at one of the dimples in his cheek with her thumb.

"That," he agrees. "And kiss you."

She hums but still doesn't move away, seemingly content to just stand there with him with as minimal space between them as possible. He shares the sentiment.

"Do you want to go ghost hunting with me again?" she asks. "Or, I don't know, maybe get some dinner?"

"Swan," he replies, mock-scandalized as he pulls back to look at her. "Are you asking me out on a _date_?"

"Are you saying yes?"

"On the condition that you let me plan the evening."

"I know how to plan a date!" she argues.

"You know how to chase ghosts, and save the world from ancient evils." The hand that's on her hip slides affectionately up her back so he can draw her closer still. "I know how to plan an evening out."

"Well, I don't pillage and plunder on the first date, just so you know."

"Duly noted," he smiles, but with the way that she kissed him, he's not sure her statement is entirely accurate.

She holds his gaze as carefully and surely as she does his heart, and he feels it again, that insistent connection between them. Something more than just demons and ghosts and haunted mansions, something closer to the magic he's just starting to believe in again.

He leans down the same moment her arms wrap around his neck and tighten around him. Then she tilts her chin up, sighing contentedly as his mouth closes over hers again. The fire was expected but this? This tenderness is a surprise and if you ask him, infinitely better.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Thank you so much, dear readers, for your time and all the love you've left on this fic. I have no words to describe how grateful I am for every view, like, and comment! It's been a very long time since I've written anything, let alone completed something, so this one's a very special one for me. Hope to see you around, hope to BE around and sharing more stories soon too. With all my love and gratitude, Liz Xx

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to be clear that this fic is COMPLETE (for anybody worrying) and Chapters 2 and 3 will be going up every two days over the next week :)


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